THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


TU  RALPH  D.  REED  LIBRARY 


DEPARTMENT  OF  GEOLOGY 

UNIVERSITY  of  CALIFORNIA 
LOS  ANGELES,  CALIF. 


^ifo  of  Oil  Companies  of  Southern  Cali- 
fornia, Alumni  and  Faculty  of  Geology  Depart- 
ment and  University  Library 

1940 


"i  nt  am 


^QXOXQXQXQXOXQXQXOXQXGXQXQXQXQXOXQXQXQXQXGMa 


UNIVERSAL  CLASSICS 
LIBRARY 

APPLETON  PRENTISS  CLARK  GRIFFIN 

LIBRARY  OF  CONGRESS 
EDITORIAL  DIRECTOR. 


ILLUSTRATED 

WH  PHOTOGRAVURES  ON 

JAPAN  VELLVM,  ETCHINGS 

HAND  PAINTED  INDIA-PLATE 

REPRODUCTIONS.AND 

FULL  PAGE  PORTRAITS 

OFAVTHORS. 


A IQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXO: 


M.WALTER  DUNNE, PUBLISHER 


WASHINGTON  6~  LONDON 


QXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQXQ: 


COPYRIGHT,  1901, 

BY 
M.  WALTER    DUNNE, 

PUBLISHER 


DEATH  OF  LOUIS  Kill. 

Photogravure  after  Merrier 


MEMOIRS  OF  LOUIS  XIV 
AND  THE  REGENCY 


BY  THE 

DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 


TRANSLATED  BY 

BAYLE  ST.  JOHN 


IN  THREE  VOLUMES 
VOL.   I 


LEON    VALLEE 

Bibliothecaire  a  la  Bibliotheque  Nationale 


M.WALTER  DUNNE,PUBUSHER 

WASHINGTON  &  LONDON 


COPYRIGHT,  1901, 

BY 

M.  WALTER    DUNNE, 

PUBLISHER 


DC 


v,  1 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


VOLUME  I. 

DEATH  OF  Louis  XIII 

Photogravure  after  Mercier. 

RECEPTION  BY   CARDINAL  RICHELIEU 

Photogravure  after  A.  Moreau. 


Frontispiece 


205 


VOLUME  II. 


LOUIS    XIV.    AND    MOLIERE    . 

Photogravure  after  Gerome. 

Louis  XIV.  AND   LA  VALLIERE  . 

Photogravure  after  Morion. 


Frontispiece 


195 


VOLUME  III. 

Louis  XV.  AND  MADAME  DE  POMPADOUR    . 

Hand-painted  photogravure  after  Delort. 


Frontispiece 
(vii) 


661296 


INTRODUCTION 
To  THE   MEMOIRS  OF    SAINT-SIMON 


By  LEON  VALLEE 

WHILE  still  a  youth,  but  with  a  mind  well  stored  with 
French  history  from  reading  the  numerous  mem- 
oirs from  Villehardouin  down  to  his  own  con- 
temporary Cardinal  Retz,  Saint-Simon  decided  that  he 
would  leave  to  posterity  an  account  of  those  events  in 
which  he  himself  took  part  either  as  an  eyewitness  or 
as  an  actor. 

No  one  was  better  able  than  he,  no  one  better  en- 
dowed by  nature  to  relate  to  us,  in  their  minute  detail, 
the  thousand  little  incidents,  which  taken  together  form 
the  history  of  the  latter  part  of  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV. 
and  that  of  the  Regency. 

Son  of  a  former  favorite  of  Louis  XIII.,  having  as 
sponsors  at  his  baptism,  at  the  palace  of  Versailles,  King 
Louis  XIV.  and  Queen  Maria  Theresa,  Saint-Simon  first 
appears  at  court  in  the  year  1692  and  seems  destined  for 
a  brilliant  career.  His  early  life  is  auspicious;  at  the  age 
of  twenty,  he  is  already  a  captain  in  the  cavalry ;  married 
to  the  daughter  of  his  superior  officer,  Marshal  de  Lorges, 
he  is  given  an  apartment  in  the  palace  of  Versailles. 

Ambitious,  he  longs  for  fame.  At  Ginesheim-on-the- 
Rhine,  where  he  is  in  command,  he  begins  the  writing 
of  his  memoirs  on  which  he  was  to  work  during  sixty 
years. 

Destined  for  great  things,  his  life  was  passed  in  a  nar- 
row sphere-,  for  this  brilliant  young  officer,  offended  by 
an  appointment  which  he  considered  unjust,  it  having 
been  made  by  an  underling  of  the  Ministry,  threw  up 
his  commission  in  the  army  and  for  a  long  time  \vas 
satisfied  to  remain  a  simple  courtier. 

(ix) 


x  MEMOIRS  OF   SAINT-SIMON 

He,  who  boasted  of  his  descent  from  Charlemagne 
when  in  reality  he  was  nothing  more  than  the  son  of  an 
equerry  of  Louis  XIII.,  shows  us  in  this  an  instance  of  his 
unbounded  arrogance  —  that  arrogance  which  was  the  key- 
note to  his  character  and  which  influenced  every  act  of 
his  life,  and  which  we  find  on  every  page  of  his  memoirs 
as  he  writes:  "Duke  and  peer  as  he  is,  with  wife  and 
children,  he  could  not  serve  in  the  army  like  any  up- 
start, or  be  thrown  in  contact  with  a  different  social  class 
than  his  own,  those  holding  office  or  commanding  regi- 
ments. " 

Upon  his  return  to  Versailles,  to  the  apartment  which 
royal  favor  had  retained  for  him,  he  took  up  his  resi- 
dence at  the  Court  upon  which  he  will  henceforth  spy 
without  mercy.  He  filled  a  unique  position  at  Court, 
being  accepted  by  all,  even  by  the  King  himself,  as  a 
cynic,  personally  liked  for  his  disposition,  enjoying  con- 
sideration on  account  of  the  prestige  of  his  social  connec- 
tions, inspiring  fear  in  the  more  timid  by  the  severity 
and  fearlessness  of  his  criticism ;  he  was  also  treated  with 
respect  by  those  who  saw  in  him  a  man  destined  to  make 
his  mark  in  the  world's  history. 

Neither  courtier,  statesman,  minister,  or  friend  read 
those  notes  which  Saint-Simon  wrote  from  day  to  day, 
closeted  in  his  study  where  he  lived  over  again  the  events 
which  had  just  transpired,  and  where  safe  from  prying 
eyes,  he  intrusted  to  paper  the  gossip  which  he  had 
heard  and  that  which  his  all-unconscious  associates  in 
spying  had  brought  him.  For  he  understood  the  art  of  elicit- 
ing the  confidence  of  those  holding  high  positions  in  life, 
making  them  repeat  interesting  conversations  and  racy 
anecdotes.  Among  the  friends  whose  help  he  thus  ob- 
tained were  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  future  Regent, 
Cabinet  Ministers  Chamillart  and  de  Pontchartrain,  the 
Duke  of  Beauvilliers  and  of  Chevreuse,  Bontemps,  first 
gentleman-in-waiting  to  the  King,  Mare*chal,  head  sur- 
geon, and  Mesdames  de  Lauzan,  de  LeVis,  de  Nogaret, 
and  the  Duchess  of  Lorges.  The  latter  was  especially 
useful  to  him,  he  tells  us.  Each  evening,  he  says,  she 
repeated  to  him  the  gossip  she  had  picked  up  through 
the  day.  Whenever  the  author  relates  to  us  happenings 


SPECIAL   INTRODUCTION  xi 

in  which  he  took  no  part  he  is  very  careful  to  give  us 
the  source  from  which  he  obtained  his  knowledge.  ' '  Con- 
cerning things  I  have  not  seen  or  experienced  myself,  I 
wish  always  to  state  where  and  by  whom  I  secured  my 
information. "  Nor  ought  we  to  forget  that  under  all  cir- 
cumstances Saint-Simon  loves  and  seeks  the  truth. 

Time  and  again  he  draws  attention  to  the  fact  and 
quite  properly  takes  pride  in  it.  "It  is,"  he  writes,  "this 
love  for  truth  which  has  stood  in  the  way  of  my  suc- 
cess in  life,  I  have  often  realized  this,  but  I  have  pre- 
ferred the  truth  to  all  things  and  could  not  bring  myself 
to  stoop  to  deceit.  I  have  cherished  truth  even  when  by 
so  doing,  I  stood  in  my  own  light.'' 

But  however  much  Saint-Simon  may  object  to  falsity 
or  to  slander  knowingly,  it  does  not  follow  that  we  are 
to  believe  his  word  implicitly.  Often  he  is  mistaken,  and 
is  blinded  by  passion,  or  by  his  worship  of  ducal 
grandeur  or  by  his  private  animosities.  At  times  he  is 
well  aware  of  the  lack  of  moderation  in  his  views  and 
feels  the  necessity  of  apologizing  for  his  weakness  in 
this  respect.  "We  delight,"  he  writes,  "in  honest  and 
true  persons,  but  we  are  irritated  by  those  knaves  who 
hang  about  a  court,  and  how  much  more  annoyed  are 
we  by  those  persons  who  have  done  us  an  injury.  The 
stoic  is  a  beautiful  and  noble  creature  of  the  imagina- 
tion. I  do  not  pride  myself  upon  my  freedom  from 
prejudice  —  impartiality, —  it  would  be  useless  for  me  to 
attempt  it." 

Saint- Simon,  according  to  his  own  picturesque  expres- 
sion, submits  everyone  to  a  (microscopic)  close  examina- 
tion, taking  their  measure  as  it  were,  and  he  sees  from 
afar  off,  thanks  to  his  alert  mind  and  his  clearer  vision, 
those  transformations  of  a  special  order,  which  are  actually 
taking  place  in  the  very  heart  of  society. 

He  was  the  first  to  perceive  that  event  which  was  to 
be  the  most  important  of  all  others  during  the  reign 
of  Louis  XIV.,  that  of  the  accession  to  power  of  the 
middle  classes,  by  the  enforcement  of  civil  rights  and  by 
the  administration  of  the  public  treasury.  This  explains 
his  opposition  to  royalty,  whom  he  felt  was  preparing  the 
way  for  the  Revolution,  the  advent  of  which  he  predicted. 


xii  MEMOIRS   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

Champion  of  the  titled  class,  he  struggled  valiantly  to 
make  this  class  a  political  factor. 

He  would  have  the  nobles  in  the  Ministry  with  all  the 
dignity  and  authority  which  are  their  prerogatives,  even 
at  ,  the  expense  of  the  clergy  and  lawyers,  in  order  to 
drive  from  the  higher  positions  those  plebeians,  he  would 
place  government  patronage  under  the  control  of  the 
nobility.  For  a  brief  moment  he  dreamed  of  triumph 
and  this  on  the  day  the  will  of  Louis  XIV.  was  annulled 
when  the  legitimized  princes  were  humiliated  at  that  his- 
toric stance  of  the  Bed  of  Justice 

His  delight  bordered  on  delirium.  "Yet,  as  for  me,  I 
was  dying  with  joy.  I  was  so  oppressed  that  I  feared 
I  should  swoon;  my  heart  dilated  to  excess,  and  no 
longer  found  room  to  beat.  ...  I  had  triumphed, 
I  was  revenged;  I  swam  in  my  vengeance;  I  enjoyed 
the  full  accomplishment  of  desires  the  most  vehement 
and  the  most  continuous  of  all  my  life."  But  alas, 
Saint-Simon  relapsed  afterward  into  the  bitterest  disap- 
pointment. 

He,  who,  upon  the  accession  of  the  Regent,  expected 
to  become  the  master  and  direct  the  affairs  of  France,  is 
no  longer  listened  to,  but  is  replaced  by  Cardinal  Dubois. 
So  he  leaves  the  Court,  discouraged,  to  live  in  retire- 
ment, when  the  Duke  of  Bourbon  comes  to  the  throne. 

The  remainder  of  Saint-Simon's  life  was  passed  be- 
tween the  castle  of  Verte-Vidame,  near  Chartres  and 
his  house  in  the  Rue  de  Grenelle,  St  Germain,  Paris. 
For  ten  years  he  devoted  his  time  to  the  final  revision 
of  his  memoirs,  making  use  of  annotations  he  had  put 
in  the  Journal  of  Dangeau  and  employing  the  great 
quantity  of  notes  he  had  collected  in  his  "workshop"  at 
Versailles.  This  autograph  manuscript  entailed  an  im- 
mense labor ;  the  writing  was  almost  free  from  erasure 
and  remarkable  for  its  distinctness  and  legibility.  It 
amounted  to  no  less  than  2,300  pages  in  folio. 

After  the  death  of  Saint- Simon,  his  memoirs  were 
found  with  a  large  quantity  of  other  papers,  and  the 
Duke  de  Choiseul,  fearing  revelations  from  their  publica- 
tion, hastened  to  have  them  seized  and  placed  in  the 
archives  of  the  Ministry  of  Foreign  Affairs,  under  the 


SPECIAL   INTRODUCTION  xiii 

pretext  that  the  author,  once  having  been  Ambassador 
to  Spain,  was  interested  in  matters  of  State. 

For  sixty  years  a  few  privileged  persons  only  were  al- 
lowed to  read  these  memoirs  or  publish  extracts  from  them, 
until  General  de  Saint-Simon  finally  obtained  from  Louis 
XVIII.  the  freedom  of  the  "  Bastille  prisoner,"  that  is  to  say, 
the  restitution  of  the  manuscript  to  the  heirs  of  the  Duke. 

Of  these  memoirs,  Madame  Du  Deffand,  in  her  letters 
to  H.  Walpole,  writes  "that  they  give  exquisite  pleasure 
and  one  loses  oneself  in  their  perusal." 

Saint-Beuve  finds  in  them  a  comprehensive  breadth  of 
view,  an  amount  of  information,  social  relation,  manner 
of  expression,  and  local  coloring,  which  make  them  the 
most  precious  collection  of  memoirs  extant.  Master 
painter  of  history,  Saint-Simon  excels  in  depicting  the  in- 
dividual as  well  as  groups  of  persons,  of  conveying  the 
general  impression  as  well  as  the  minute  detail,  dual  ef- 
fect of  parts  and  the  whole. 

This  history  is  a  fresco  after  the  manner  of  Rubens, 
dashed  in  with  an  ardor  which  does  not  permit  of  his 
working  with  care,  or  drawing  in  his  figures  before  paint- 
ing; but  the  characters,  as  numerous  as  they  are,  only 
stand  out  the  more  clearly  in  relief.  The  work  is  like  a 
vast  historical  Kermesse,  the  scene  of  which  is  laid  in 
the  palace  of  Versailles. 

Villemain,  on  the  other  hand,  who  was  the  master  of 
French  criticism  at  the  time  of  the  publication  of  these 
memoirs,  declared  their  author  to  be  the  most  original  of 
geniuses  of  our  literature,  the  foremost  of  prose  satirists; 
inexhaustible  in  details  of  manners  and  customs,  a  word 
painter  like  Tacitus;  the  author  of  a  language  of  his 
own,  lacking  in  accuracy,  system,  and  art,  yet  an  admir- 
able writer. 

Poitou,  also,  praised  that  priceless  chronicle  which,  go- 
ing back  into  the  past,  embraces  almost  the  extent  of 
half  a  century,  in  which,  at  the  same  time,  the  genera- 
tion which  he  has  seen  growing  and  that  of  which  he 
made  a  part,  lives  over  again ;  a  historic  fresco,  immense, 
prodigious,  which,  perhaps,  has  not  its  equal  in  the  world 
in  brilliancy,  richness,  and  variety ;  where,  in  spite  of  age, 
the  artist's  touch  does  not  betray  the  weight  of  years, 


xiv  MEMOIRS   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

nor  the  weariness  of  work;  where  one  feels  everywhere 
the  enthusiasm  of  youth  and  the  fire  of  passion. 

Before  Saint-Simon's  time  French  literature  already 
counted  more  than  one  eminent  work  in  the  nature  of 
memoirs.  Saint- Simon  has  gone  far  ahead  of  his  precur- 
sors. By  force  of  genius,  he  has  raised  personal  recollec- 
tions to  the  dignity  of  history. 

These  memoirs  are  rich  in  chefs-d'ceuvre,  the  mere 
choice  of  which  is  difficult. 

As  a  good  illustration,  however,  take  the  portraits  of 
President  Harlay,  the  Duchesses  of  Berry  and  of  Bour- 
gogne;  those  of  Dangeau,  of  Fe"nelon,  of  Marshal  Lux- 
embourg, or  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  you  will  catch 
instantly  the  life  and  character  of  these  personages,  for 
Saint-Simon  is  a  true  artist,  who  fascinates  by  the  charm 
of  his  pictures. 

He  replaces  the  painter's  brush  by  pen  and  handwrit- 
ing. As  a  writer  Saint- Simon  cannot  be  compared  to  any 
of  his  contemporaries.  He  has  an  individuality,  a  style 
and  a  language  solely  his  own.  If  he  must  be  given  a 
place  in  literary  chronology,  one  is  tempted  to  rank  him 
among  the  writers  of  the  beginning  of  the  iyth  century, 
whose  audacity  he  recalls.  The  "little  fury,"  as  the  songs 
of  his  day  called  Saint- Simon,  possessed  a  genius  which 
rode  rough-shod  over  all  obstacles.  What  did  he  care  for 
grammar?  He  had  a  contempt  for  it  when  it  crossed  his 
path.  And  language,  he  treated  it  like  an  abject  slave. 
When  he  had  gone  to  its  farthest  limit,  when  it  failed 
to  express  his  ideas,  or  feelings,  he  forced  it  —  the  result 
was  a  new  term,  or  a  change  in  the  ordinary  mean- 
ing of  words,  sprang  forth  from  his  pen.  With  this 
was  joined  a  vigor  and  breadth  of  style,  very  pronounced, 
which  makes  up  the  originality  of  the  works  of  Saint- 
Simon  and  contributes  toward  placing  their  author  in  the 
foremost  ranks  of  French  writers. 


Translated  from  the  French  of  Leon  Vall6e. 


TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION. 

THE  <(  Memoirs w  of  the  Duke  of  Saint-Simon,  an 
abridgment  of  which  is  here  presented  to  the  public, 
occupy  now  by  common  consent  a  very  high  position  in 
French  literature.  No  work  of  a  similar  kind  has  ever 
probably  been  so  popular;  and  in  many  respects  it  de- 
serves its  reputation.  It  forms  a  perfect  panoramic  pic- 
ture, highly  finished  in  all  its  details,  of  the  Court  of 
Louis  XIV.,  during  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  reign, 
and  of  the  period  of  the  Regency.  Saint- Simon  was,  to 
a  certain  extent,  an  actor  in  the  intrigues  he  describes, 
—  at  any  rate,  always  sufficiently  near  to  see  their  de- 
velopment and  be  acquainted  with  their  promoters. 
Keen  criticism,  stimulated  by  the  family  pride  of  per- 
sons of  whom  he  has  spoken  ill,  has  detected  in  him  a 
few  errors, —  inevitable  in  so  vast  an  undertaking;  but 
none  that  are  willful,  or  calculated  to  disturb  him  from 
his  place  as  an  authority. 

Saint-Simon  was  the  son  of  a  duke  and  peer  of  France, 
and  early  became  a  duke  and  peer  himself.  He  says 
scarcely  anything  about  his  childhood,  and  we  never 
seem  to  feel  the  omission.  He  gives  us  the  idea  of 
never  having  been  young.  There  is  a  gravity  and  ear- 
nestness even  in  his  most  trivial  recitals, —  except  when 
he  allows  his  strong  natural  humor  to  break  forth, —  that 
appear  to  belong  to  a  character  ripe  and  mature  from 
the  very  first.  He  does,  indeed,  talk  of  having  played 
with  the  Due  de  Chartres;  but  if  the  young  prince 
played,  we  may  be  sure  the  future  memoir  writer  even 
then  noted  his  movements  and  counted  his  steps. 

The  army  was  the  first  scene  of  Saint-Simon's  worldly 
experience.  When  very  young  he  entered  the  King's 
Musketeers,  and  in  time  rose  to  the  command  of  a  regi- 
ment. He  served  in  more  than  one  campaign,  and  ap- 
pears to  have  discharged  his  duties  conscientiously  and 
well.  While  still  in  the  camp  he  began  to  note  down  in 


2  TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION 

a  journal  the  events  that  were  occurring  around  him, 
incited  to  do  so  by  the  pleasure  he  had  received  in  read- 
ing the  Memoirs  of  the  Mar6chal  de  Bassompierre.  Even 
at  this  early  time  it  is  evident  that  he  was  endowed  with 
a  rare  power  of  observation,  and  good  natural  sagacity; 
and  with  a  certain  rigidity  of  opinion  which  prevented 
him  from  much  sharing  the  vices  with  which  he  came  in 
contact. 

Saint-Simon's  military  career  did  not  last  long.  He 
had  served  no  more  than  five  years  when  the  peace  of 
Ryswick  was  signed ;  and  the  field  never  saw  him  again. 
The  great  war  of  the  Spanish  Succession  began  in  1702, 
and  nearly  all  Europe  was  involved  in  it,  until  the  Treaty 
of  Utrecht  decided  the  question  at  issue ;  but  Saint-Simon, 
being  deprived  of  the  promotion  he  thought  himself  en- 
titled to,  resigned  his  rank.  In  this,  doubtless,  he  acted 
wisely.  He  seems  to  have  had  no  special  predilection  for 
a  military  life — never  speaks  of  his  interrupted  career 
with  soldierly  regret  —  does  not  even  imply  that  he  had 
talent  in  that  direction.  The  Court,  not  the  camp,  claimed 
him.  He  was  formed  to  move,  not  amid  helmets  and 
plumes,  but  amid  powdered  wigs  and  gold-headed  canes, 

—  to  wander   observant   amid   fans   and  hoops,  not  tents 
and  trenches.     In  that  sphere,  looking  on  at  the  intrigues 
and   schemes    that    thickened   or   dispersed    around    him, 
joining  in  them  himself  when  a  friend  was  to  be  served, 

—  for  Saint- Simon  was  evidently  capable  of  friendship, — 
or  an  enemy  to  be  thwarted, — he  was  equally  capable  of 
enmity ;  —  maintaining  himself  in  intimacy  with  most   of 
the  courtiers  whose  views  were  in  harmony  with  his  own, 
and  with  many  whose  views  were  very  different;  fighting 
for  the  rights  and  dignity  of  his  order  with  the  tenacity 
of  a  man  who  regards  them  almost  as  passports  to  eter- 
nal salvation,  and  who  sees  that  in  the  confusion  of  new 
grades  and  unusual  privileges  arising,  he  and  his  fellows 
are  counting  for  less  and  less  every  day;   criticising   the 
plans  of  government  in  operation,  and   drawing  up  new 
plans  of  his  own;  noting  with  a    sort   of    prophetic    cun- 
ning all  political  and  diplomatic  changes  threatened,  the 
struggles  to  gain  power  and  the  struggles  to  preserve  it ; 
and  all  the  while  keeping  his  ear  open  to  reports  of   all 


TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION  3 

domestic  occurrences  at  the  Court, —  the  love  affairs,  the 
scandals,  the  marriages,  the  tragedies  in  this  direction, 
the  comedies  in  that ;  —  such  being  his  position  and  occu- 
pation, we  need  not  be  surprised  at  the  vast  extent  and 
varied  nature  of  his  "Memoirs.8  A  more  active  and  public 
mode  of  life,  in  which  he  would  have  been  forced  to 
find  work  for  the  critics  rather  than  play  the  critic  him- 
self, would  not  have  suited  him  so  well ;  and  would  have 
injured  the  interests  of  posterity.  We  see  this  plainly 
in  the  review  of  his  career. 

During  the  lifetime  of  Louis  XIV.,  Saint- Simon  en- 
joyed much  indirect  favor  from  his  popularity  with  the 
leading  personages  of  the  Court  and  the  Government; 
but  the  King,  displeased  with  him  in  the  first  instance 
for  his  retirement  from  the  army,  and  afterward  for  his 
determined  stand  in  support  of  the  most  petty  privileges 
of  the  order  to  which  he  belonged  —  to  say  nothing  of 
his  pedantic  and  meddling  disposition  —  never  bestowed 
much  notice  upon  him,  and  sometimes  evinced  marked 
coldness.  It  was  not  until  the  government  fell  into  the 
hands  of  the  Due  d'Orle'ans,  the  Due  de  Chartres  of 
Saint-Simon's  childhood,  that  his  position  changed. 
With  the  Due  d'Orle'ans  he  had  always  been  on  good 
terms.  He  had  stood  by  him  in  fair  weather  and  in 
foul;  and  now,  to  a  certain  extent,  reaped  the  reward  of 
his  devotion.  He  became  a  member  of  the  Council  of 
State;  and  had  nominally  a  voice  in  deciding  the  affairs 
of  the  nation.  But  he  was  not  meant  by  nature  to  be  a 
statesman  any  more  than  he  was  meant  to  be  a  soldier. 
Abler  and  more  unscrupulous  intriguers  got  hold  of  the 
helm;  and  Saint-Simon,  despite  his  intimacy  with  the 
Regent,  never  had  any  sensible  influence  on  great  affairs, 
and  continued  to  jot  down  notes  of  what  he  knew  of  the 
manners  and  character  of  the  Court. 

The  <(  Memoirs  w  of  the  Due  de  Saint-Simon  extend  over 
a  period  corresponding  to  his  Court  life,  which  ended 
about  1723.  Every  circumstance,  however  important  or 
however  trivial,  that  occurred  at  the  French  Court  during 
this  period,  seems  to  be  set  down  in  them.  They  give 
us  the  most  varied  and  the  most  curious  information  re- 
specting the  members  of  that  Court;  and  are  especially 


4  TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION 

successful  in  introducing  Louis  XIV.  to  us  in  undress, 
without  his  crown,  even  without  his  wig,  the  plain,  un- 
sophisticated thing,  the  lean  and  slippered  pantaloon, 
who  by  the  huge  efforts  of  flattery  has  been  introduced 
to  posterity  with  the  title  of  Great.  The  most  criminal 
act  that  literature  has  committed  has  been  to  affect  grati- 
tude to  this  pitiful  old  gentleman;  and  it  is  agreeable  to 
find  one  literary  man,  though  a  noble,  painting  him  in 
liis  true  colors.  We  seem  to  be  present  at  the  melan- 
choly death  of  Hawthorne's  Feathertop;  or,  after  having 
watched  the  brilliant  course  of  a  rocket  through  the  air, 
to  be  picking  up  the  miserable  stick  round  which  the 
splendor  clung. 

It  is  true  that  these  (<  Memoirs  *  refer  chiefly  to  the  latter 
clays  of  Louis  XIV.,  when  he  had  become  tied  to  the 
apron  strings  of  that  stately  intriguer,  so  pious  and  yet 
so  bitter,  Madame  de  Maintenon ;  but  I  do  not  think  this 
is  the  reason  he  appears  so  mean.  He  was  always  mean ; 
and  never  meaner  than  in  his  young  days,  when  he  had 
beautiful  mistresses,  some  of  whom  were  not  so  con- 
temptible as  others.  We  know  the  promises  he  made 
that  he  did  not  perform;  and  the  offensive  word  that 
exists  to  describe  such  conduct.  But  this  is  not  the  place 
to  discuss  the  general  character  of  this  smirking,  grimac- 
ing old  dancing  master,  who  has  given  his  name  (among 
the  French)  to  a  literary  and  artistic  age  —  because  he 
patronized  Lebrun,  and  could  not  understand  Lesueur, 
Claude  Lorrain,  and  Poussin — because  he  gave  Moliere 
the  smallest  pension  accorded  to  any  poet  of  his  day, 
wasted  the  genius  of  Racine  in  composing  his  panegyric, 
and  corrupted  the  taste  and  morality  of  France,  by  forcing 
its  writers,  even  the  best,  to  indulge  in  the  most  ignoble 
and  loathsome  laudations  of  the  most  ignoble  and  loath- 
some of  persons.  The  reader  is  requested  to  compare  the 
character  of  Monseigneur  as  described  with  unerring  ac- 
curacy in  these  <(  Memoirs w  with  the  following  disgusting 
paragraph  printed  in  small  capitals  in  the  midst  of  one 
of  the  masterpieces  of  French  Literature:  La  Bruyere's 
«  Characters  » : 

*Un  jeune  prince,  d'une  race  august 'e,  I* amour  et  I'espe'r- 
ance  des  peuples,  donn/  du  del  pour  prolonger  la  J 'tlicitt  de 


TRANSLATOR'S   INTRODUCTION  5 

la  terrey  plus  grand  que  ses  aieux,  fils  d'un  htros  qui  est  son 
module -,  a  dejb  montre"  a  I'univers,  par  ses  divines  qualitts  et 
par  une  vertu  anticipe'e,  que  les  enfants  des  he'ros  sont  plus 
proches  de  I'etre  que  les  autres  hommes* 

If  we  compare  this  bombastical  unmeasured  style  with 
the  way  in  which  chosen  men  used  to  speak,  say  even  of 
Henri  IV.,  we  shall  be  able  to  estimate  the  degree  to* 
which  taste  suffered  under  Louis  XIV.  Language  may  have 
become  purer  and  more  correct:  it  would  have  gone  on 
improving,  perhaps  entered  on  a  better  path,  under  any 
other  governor  or  form  of  government;  but  style  is  not 
diction  and  requires  to  be  assisted  toward  perfection  by- 
moral  qualities  which  could  not  develop  in  the  pestilential 
atmosphere  of  Versailles.  That  was,  at  any  rate,  an  age 
of  phrases,  not  an  age  of  ideas;  and,  with  the  exception 
of  Moliere  and  Pascal,  produced  few  men  whose  reputa- 
tion is  not  in  some  manner  conventional. 

Although  Saint-Simon  reveals  all  the  pitifulness  of  the 
Court,  because  it  was  pitiful,  we  must  not  suppose  that 
he  does  so  with  any  ulterior  views.  He  was  no  revolu- 
tionist, no  reformer.  No  man  could  have  a  more  genuine 
belief  in  kingly  power  than  he.  Instead  of  seeing  that 
England  owes  its  rank  among  nations  to  the  execution  of 
Charles  I.,  he  says  that  execution  will  be  its  <(  eter- 
nal shame.*  William  of  Orange  is  always  a  "usurper* 
in  his  eyes.  He  would  probably  have  parted  with  his 
life  to  uphold  the  throne  of  France,  while  painting  the 
members  of  the  royal  family  as  stained  with  every  vice 
which  our  vocabulary  can  name,  or  refuses  to  name. 

There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  Saint-Simon's  portrait 
of  Louis  XIV.  is  true  in  all  essential  particulars.  And 
what  a  portrait  it  is!  How  finished  by  a  succession  of 
touches,  put  on  when  the  artist  was  in  his  best  mood, 
that  gradually  gave  life  to  the  eye,  and  color  to  the 
cheek!  There  is  a  victory,  for  example,  to  be  gained. 
The  French  troops,  Louis  XIV.  at  their  head,  are  en- 
camped at  Gembloux.  The  Prince  of  Orange  is  close  at 
hand.  The  position  of  the  French  is  such  that  they  can 
count  upon  a  victory.  The  position  of  the  enemy  is  such 
that  they  can  count  upon  nothing  but  defeat.  The 
French  are  more  numerous  than  the  allies ;  all  promises 


6  TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION 

a  great  triumph.  But  time  flies  and  nothing  is  done ;  on 
the  contrary,  an  order  for  retreat  is  given.  The  King, 
worked  upon  by  Madame  de  Maintenon,  is  tired  of  being 
a  hero,  and  impatient  for  the  comforts  of  Versailles. 
Amidst  the  laughter  of  the  army,  of  France,  and  of 
Europe,  he  joins  *  the  ladies  *  and  returns  to  luxurious 
ease.  At  another  time,  Lille  being  taken  by  the  enemy, 
a  minister  proposes  an  excellent  plan  for  its  recovery, 
but,  as  the  plan  includes  leaving  the  ladies  behind,  re- 
quests that  it  shall  not  be  communicated  to  Madame  de 
Maintenon.  The  King  promises,  breaks  his  promise,  and 
suffers  himself  once  more  to  be  cajoled.  The  unchaste 
widow  of  a  paralytic  poet,  the  sneaking  governess  who 
was  the  humble  friend  of  the  King's  mistresses  and  of 
the  courtesan  Ninon,  puts  a  nightcap  over  the  crown  of 
France.  Every  idea  of  honor  and  humanity  is  made  to 
give  way  to  the  King's  personal  enjoyment.  He  thanks  God 
that  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne,  his  granddaughter,  meets 
with  an  accident  that  injures  her  and  deprives  her  of  an  heir, 
because  her  state  .interferes  with  his  promenades.  The 
importance  he  assigns  to  etiquette  —  perhaps  nothing  else 
appeared  important  in  his  eyes* — is  most  amusing. 
When  one  of  the  Court  ladies  seats  herself  at  table  a 
place  or  two  higher  than  she  had  any  right  to  do,  his 
dignity  is  so  wounded  that  he  can  eat  no  dinner,  and 
bursts  out  constantly  into  spontaneous  rages  for  several 
days.  Yet  he  so  far  forgets  what  is  due  to  this  dignity 
on  another  occasion  that  he  plays  the  sneaking  courtier 
to  a  common  financier  whose  money  he  wished  to  bor- 
row, which  Saint-Simon  calls  a  pleasant  case  of  cut- 
purse.  The  murder  of  Fargues  shows  that  his  pettiness 
could  be  sanguinary  when  it  chose.  But  the  w  Memoirs  w 
are  full  of  such  traits.  And  of  what  revelations  of  the 
state  of  the  Court!  See  the  character  of  the  King's  only 
legitimate  son,  of  his  illegitimate  sons  and  daughters, 
his  favorites  and  councilors.  Strongly  as  they  are  painted 
in  these  pages,  I  have  yet  been  obliged  to  decline  fol- 
lowing Saint-Simon  in  all  his  details  and  revelations. 

The  memoir  writer  addressed  not  his  own  day,  but 
posterity.  The  anecdotes  he  set  down  in  his  journal 
would  have  cost  him  his  life  or  his  liberty  if  he  had 


TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION  7 

ventured  to  publish  them.  Had  Louis  XIV.  known  what 
kept  the  busy-body  Duke  so  often  in  his  study,  there 
would  have  been  a  lettre-de-cachet  out  at  once,  we  may 
be  sure,  and  a  new  lodger  at  the  Bastile  or  Vincennes. 
Indeed,  it  is  only  in  our  own  day,  so  to  speak,  that  the 
w  Memoirs  w  have  been  allowed  to  appear.  When  Saint- 
Simon  retired  from  the  Court  for  good  and  all,  he  went 
down  to  his  government  of  Blaye,  and  turning  aside 
from  all  new  opinions  and  doctrines,  employed  the  leisure 
of  many  years  in  revising  and  arranging  his  notes. 
Shortly  after  his  death  his  manuscripts  were  seized  by 
the  government.  It  was  known  that  they  contained  many 
revelations  of  the  Court  of  Louis  XIV.  Their  publication 
was  dreaded.  For  years  the  <(  Memoirs }>  remained  locked 
up  in  the  hands  of  the  government.  From  time  to  time 
a  select  few  were  allowed  to  look  at  them.  Duclos, 
Marmontel,  Madame  du  Deffand  had  access  to  these 
valuable  documents.  Voltaire  too  appears  to  have  seen 
them,  but  after  the  production  of  his  <(Siecle  de  Louis 
XIV. ";  for  he  conceived,  we  are  told,  the  project 
of  refuting  the  information  they  contain!  To  the 
public  at  large,  however,  they  remained  utterly  un- 
known. 

A  little  while  before  the  French  Revolution,  extracts 
from  the  <(  Memoirs w  began  to  appear ;  but  always  very 
imperfect  and  without  authorization.  After  the  French 
Revolution  other  versions  were  published ;  but  so  altered, 
mutilated,  and  rearranged,  that  Saint-Simon  would  have 
had  trouble  indeed  to  recognize  his  own  work.  It  was 
not  until  1829  that  anything  like  a  complete  edition  of 
the  (<  Memoirs }>  was  given  to  the  public.  The  work  at 
once  made  a  great  sensation,  and  the  caution  that  had 
directed  its  long  suppression  was  to  a  certain  extent 
justified.  Never  did  the  Bourbon  family  receive  such  a 
blow.  At  a  glance  the  public  had  presented  to  them 
that  court  which  had  hitherto  been  regarded  as  the  most 
brilliant  ever  seen  in  France  —  its  tinsel  and  gilding 
stripped  from  it,  its  tatters  and  rags  displayed  in  all  their 
wretchedness.  The  success  of  the  work  was  immense. 
Since  the  publication  of  Scott's  novels,  says  M.  Sainte- 
Beuve,  no  book  had  been  more  widely  welcomed. 


8  TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION 

The  success  has  gone  on  increasing  with  years.  Every 
French  literary  man,  I  had  almost  said  every  French 
student,  reads  Saint-Simon.  The  press  abounds  with  allu- 
sions to  this  inexhaustible  story-teller,  from  whom,  too, 
the  stage  takes  its  plots,  and  the  novelist  his  characters. 
In  one  year  no  fewer  than  six  different  editions  of  his 
work  were  brought  out  in  Paris.  Though  the  price  in 
some  cases  was  high, —  a  hundred  and  twenty  francs  be- 
ing the  cost  of  one  edition, —  purchasers  did  not  fail. 

I  have  not  attempted  a  translation  of  the  great  work 
of  Saint-Simon.  It  would  form  about  twenty  volumes 
such  as  the  present;  and  I  feel  persuaded  would  find  few 
English  readers.  There  can  be  no  question  that  Saint- 
Simon  knew  when  to  write ;  but  it  is  equally  evident  that 
he  did  not  know  when  to  leave  off.  His  descriptions  and 
his  details  extend  to  lengths  that  tire  even  the  most 
persevering  attention.  When  once  he  has  entered  upon 
a  subject  you  may  be  quite  sure  that  he  will  exhaust 
every  portion  of  it.  If  he  has  to  speak  of  a  grand  mar- 
riage, not  merely  the  bride  and  bridegroom  are  described 
with  elaborate  minuteness,  but  some  account  is  given  of 
their  fathers  and  their  mothers,  their  grandfathers  and 
their  grandmothers,  and  their  most  remote  descendants; 
and  when  you  think  that  at  last  all  is  over,  ten  to  one 
there  follow  some  particulars  respecting  the  cousins-ger- 
man  or  the  relatives  by  the  main  gauche  of  the  happy 
pair.  And  then  for  fear  we  should  not  be  satisfied,  we 
are  treated  to  infinite  communications  on  their  attend- 
ants and  their  tire-women.  But  the  portions  of  the  work 
in  which  the  strongest  inroads  are  made  upon  the  patience 
of  the  reader  are  the  dissertations  upon  rank  and  pre- 
cedence, with  which  so  many  hundred  pages  are  filled. 
In  the  very  first  volume  no  fewer  than  seventy-three 
solid  pages  are  filled  with  an  account  of  the  trial  for 
precedence  against  M.  de  Luxembourg,  for  which  I  have 
thought  a  dozen  pages  ample.  In  many  other  volumes 
these  details  are  even  more  intolerable. 

Saint-Simon,  as  a  Duke  and  Peer  of  France,  may  very 
naturally  be  supposed  to  have  felt  considerable  interest 
in  all  that  pertains  to  his  order.  It  was  to  him  a  matter 
of  some  importance  that  M.  de  Luxembourg  or  the  Pres- 


TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION  9 

ident  Novion  should  not  walk  five  steps  in  advance  of 
him  in  a  procession  or  sit  five  seats  before  him  at  a  state 
ceremony.  But  to  us  these  things  are  of  little  moment. 
Our  sympathy  for  Saint-Simon,  at  all  events,  cannot  fol- 
low him  through  the  many,  many  chapters  in  which  he 
makes  appeal  to  it. 

In  selecting  facts  I  have  endeavored  to  allow  no  prej- 
udice to  sway  my  mind.  As  Goldsmith  said  of  his 
*  History  of  England,*  my  main  object  has  been  to  make 
an  interesting  work.  The  labor,  I  am  not  ashamed  to 
say  it,  has  been  anything  but  slight.  Even  Saint-Simon's 
language,  when  one  comes  to  grapple  with  it,  and  try  to 
express  all  his  meanings,  forms  no  slight  difficulty.  He 
wrote  after  Corneille,  Racine,  and  Moliere,  and  when  the 
French  academy  had  been  formed  for  years.  But  the  ex- 
cessive length  of  his  sentences,  in  which  subject  after 
subject  becomes  involved,  and  pronoun  after  pronoun 
appears  unbef  riended  and  unconnected,  or  apparently  so ; 
this,  and  the  strange  and  oft-times  daring  use  he  makes 
of  familiar  words  and  phrases,  render  him  more  than  or- 
dinarily difficult  among  French  authors.  Many  French 
readers,  literary  themselves,  are  oft-times  borne  down  by 
his  unusual  flux  of  words,  and  find  themselves  at  sea  as 
to  his  meaning.  Indeed,  to  speak  the  truth,  the  style  of 
the  writer,  though  full  of  manifest  and  lurking  beauties 
in  its  astonishing  variety,  is  on  the  whole  cumbrous  and 
wearisome,  entangled  and  beset  with  those  stumbling 
blocks  with  which  amateur  writers,  when  they  wish  to 
be  copious,  almost  invariably  fill  their  pages. 

In  introducing  Saint-Simon  into  English  society,  I  have 
endeavored  to  let  him  retain  as  much  as  possible  some 
of  his  French  garments  with  all  his  French  ways  and 
peculiarities.  Whenever  practicable,  I  have  exactly  trans- 
lated his  expressions;  when  they  were  untranslatable,  I 
have  rendered  them  into  the  language  that  seemed  best 
to  express  his  meaning  —  without  being  troubled  with 
the  desire  of  elegance.  Always,  too,  I  have  adhered  rig- 
orously to  my  text.  Not  a  thought,  not  a  reflection,  not 
a  phrase,  have  I  willingly  given  that  Saint-Simon's  words 
do  not  justify.  I  feel  bound  to  make  this  statement  to 
remove  entirely  the  idea  that  my  own  personality  has 


io  TRANSLATOR'S   INTRODUCTION 

obtruded  itself  into  these  pages.  Except  in  the  notes,  it 
is  Saint-Simon  who  speaks  throughout;  Saint-Simon,  a 
little  less  garrulous  than  when  in  French  guise;  but  if  I 
have  succeeded,  the  same  Duke  and  Peer  of  France  whose 
vast  communicativeness  has  furnished  matter  for  so  much 
of  the  tabletalk  of  Paris. 

Whether  Saint-Simon  is  well  known  in  Englard  I  am 
unable  to  judge.  I  read  him  with  a  motive  some  thirty 
years  ago,  and  fancied  that  everybody  was  acquainted  at 
any  rate  with  his  name  and  character ;  but  a  friend  talk- 
ing to  a  literary  man  on  the  subject  the  other  day  was 
informed  that  Saint-Simon  was  <(  a  great  republican,  a 
friend  of  Robespierre,  who  left  very  voluminous  memoirs;* 
and  a  person  of  cultivated  mind  and  wide  reading,  on 
being  informed  of  this  undertaking,  asked :  (<  Why  did 
they  make  him  a  Saint  ?  *  An  amusing  article  was  once 
written  in  France  called  <(  The  Two  Saint-Simons,  *  in 
which  a  disciple  of  the  new  religion  and  an  admirer  of 
the  memoir  writer  are  made  to  talk  for  hours  in  rapturous 
tones  of  their  idols  without  ever  discovering  their  mis- 
take, so  that  when  we  hear  Saint-Simon  familiarly  alluded 
to  we  cannot  be  sure  of  the  presence  of  knowledge. 

In  giving  the  spirit  rather  than  the  substance  of  the 
<(  Memoirs,*  I  have  oftentimes  traveled  far  in  advance  of 
Saint-Simon,  and  collected  his  scattered  facts  together  so 
as  to  form  one  continuous  narrative.  By  these  means,  as  I 
hope,  the  present  volumes  have  been  made  more  inter- 
esting to  the  general  reader  than  a  full  translation  of  the 
original  work  would  prove.  But  I  feel  that  many  little 
errors  may  have  escaped  me  in  the  rearrangement  of  so 
much  detail  as  I  had  to  do  with. 

In  order  to  preserve  Saint-Simon's  tone  as  much  as  pos- 
sible, and  for  the  sake  of  uniformity,  I  have  used  the 
French  titles  of  the  personages  he  speaks  of.  It  might 
have  been  indifferent  to  say  <(the  Duke  of  Chartres/  or 
<(  The  Due  de  Chartres  ;*  but  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  translate  Monsieur,  Monseigneur,  M.  le  Prince,  and  so 
forth. 

There  are  a  few  titles  of  constant  recurrence  in  the 
<(  Memoirs, >J  the  meaning  of  which  I  have  myself  found 
it  difficult  to  remember,  and  a  list  of  which  I  have  given 


TRANSLATOR'S  INTRODUCTION 


ii 


in  order  that  the  reader,    who   may  happen  to  be  in  the 
same  predicament,  may  turn  back  to  it  for  information :  — 


Monsieur 


Philippe,  Due  d'Orleans,  son  of  Louis  XIII. 
and  Anne  of  Austria,  and  brother  o£ 
Louis  XIV. 

Wife  of  Monsieur. 

Son  of  Monsieur,  afterward  Due  d'Orleans 
and  Regent  of  France. 

His  wife,  previously  Mademoiselle  de  Blois, 
daughter  of  the  King  and  Madame  de  Mon- 
tespan;  afterward  became  Duchess  d'Or- 
leans. 

Louis,  son  of  Louis  XIV.  and  Marie  Th6- 
rese.  According  to  established  custom  the 
heir  to  the  Crown  was  called  the  Dauphin, 
but  an  innovation  was  made  in  this  partic- 
ular instance  by  Louis  XIV. 

Eldest  son  of  Monseigneur,  and  father  of 
Louis  XV. 

Second  son  of  Monseigneur,  afterward  Philip 
V.  of  Spain. 

Third  son  of  Monseigneur. 

Henri  Jules  de  Bourbon,  Prince  de   Conde, 

and  son  of  the  great  Cond£. 
His  wife,  Anne  of  Bavaria. 

Son  of  M.  le  Prince. 

Louise-Frangoise  de  Bourbon,  wife  of  M.  le 
Due,  previously  called  Mademoiselle  de 
Nantes ;  daughter  of  the  King  and  Madame 
de  Montespan. 

Son  of  the  King  by  Madame  de  Montespan. 
Son  of  the  King  by  Madame  de  Montespan. 
This  was  the  title  given  to  the  Grand  Ecuyers. 
The  M.  le  Grand  spoken  of  in  the  «  Memoirs," 
was  Louis  de  Lorraine,  Comte  d'Armagnac. 

With  this  assistance  I  believe  Saint-Simon's  meaning- 
will  always  be  found  perfectly  clear.  I  shall  only  add, 
therefore,  that  I  have  not  undertaken  to  discuss  histor- 
ical points  with  him,  or  to  interfere  with  his  apprecia- 
tions of  persons.  His  mistakes,  his  prejudices,  his  incom- 
pleteness, his  wrong  estimation  of  passing  events  —  all 
which  give  the  <(  Memoirs w  something  of  a  newspaper 
character  —  form  in  themselves,  as  it  were,  elements  in 
the  picture  he  paints. 

BAYLE  ST.  JOHN. 


Madame 

Due  de  Chartres 

Duchess  de  Chartres 


Monseigneur 

The  Due  de  Bourgogne 
The  Due  d'Anjou 

The  Due  de  Berry 
M.  le  Prince 

Madame  la  Princess 
M.  le  Due 
Madame  la  Duchess 


M.  le  Due  du  Maine 
M.  le  Comte  de  Toulouse 
M.  le  Grand 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE. 

My  Birth  and  Family  —  Early  Life — Desire  to  Join  the  Army  — 
Enter  the  Musketeers  —  The  Campaign  Commences  —  Camp  of 
Gevries — Siege  of  Namur  —  Dreadful  Weather — Gentlemen 
Carrying  Corn  —  Sufferings  during  the  Siege — The  Monks  of 
Marlaigne  —  Rival  Couriers  —  Naval  Battle  —  Playing  with 
Firearms  —  A  Prediction  Verified  -  -  -  21 

CHAPTER  II. 

The  King's  Natural  Children  —  Proposed  Marriage  of  the  Due  de 
Chartres — Influence  of  Dubois  —  The  Due  and  the  King — An 
Apartment  —  Announcement  of  the  Marriage  —  Anger  of 
Madame  —  Household  of  the  Duchess  —  Villars  and  Rochefort 

—  Friend  of   King's   Mistresses  —  The    Marriage    Ceremony — 
Toilet  of  the    Duchess  —  Son  of   Montbron  —  Marriage  of  M. 
du    Maine  —  Duchess    of    Hanover  —  Due    de    Choiseul  —  La 
Grande  Mademoiselle  -  -    31 

CHAPTER  III. 

Death  of  My  Father  —  Anecdotes  of  Louis  XIII. —  The  Cardinal 
de  Richelieu  —  The  Due  de  Bellegarde  —  Madame  de  Hautefort 

—  My  Father's  Enemy — His  Services  and  Reward  —  A  Duel 
against  Law  —  An  Answer  to  a  Libel  —  M.    de  la  Rochefou- 
cauld—  My  Father's  Gratitude  to  Louis  XIII.    -  -  -    44 

CHAPTER  IV. 

Position  of  the  Prince  of  Orange — Strange  Conduct  of  the  King 

—  Surprise  and  Indignation  —  Battle  of  Neerwinden  —  My  Re- 
turn to  Paris  —  Death  of  La  Vauguyon  —  Symptoms  of  Mad- 
ness —  Vauguyon  at  the  Bastille  —  Projects  of  Marriage  —  M.  de 
Beauvilliers  —  A  Negotiation  for  a  Wife  —  My  Failure  —  Visit 

to  La  Trappe  -    51 

(13) 


14  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  V. 

PAOK. 

M.  de  Luxembourg's  Claim  of  Precedence  —  Origin  of  the  Claim  — 
Due  de  Piney  —  Character  of  Harlay  —  Progress  of  the  Trial 

—  Luxembourg  and   Richelieu  —  Double  Dealing  of  Harlay — 
The  Due  de  Gesvres  —  Return  to  the  Seat  of  War — Divers 
Operations — Origin  of  these  <(  Memoirs. »  -  -    60 

CHAPTER  VI. 

Quarrels  of  the  Princesses  —  Mademoiselle  Choin — A  Disgraceful 
Affair  —  M.  de  Noyon  —  Comic  Scene  at  the  Academic  —  Anger 
and  Forgiveness  of  M.  de  Noyon  —  M.  de  Noailles  in  Disgrace 

—  How  He  Gets  into  Favor  Again — M.  de  Vend&me  in  Com- 
mand—  Character  of  M.  de  Luxembourg — The  Trial  for  Pre- 
cedence Again  —  An  Insolent  Lawyer  —  Extraordinary  Decree    68 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Harlay  and  the  Dutch  —  Death  of  the  Princess  of  Orange  —  Count 
Kcenigsmarck  —  A  New  Proposal  of  Marriage  —  My  Marriage 

—  That    of   M.  de   Lauzun  —  Its    Result  —  La    Fontaine    and 
Mignard — Illness  of  the  Marechal  de  Lorges  —  Operations  on 
the  Rhine  —  Village  of  Seckenheim  —  An  Episode  of  War  — 
Cowardice  of  M.  du  Maine — Despair  of  the  King,  Who  Takes 

a  Knave  in  the  Act— Bon  Mot  of  M.  d'Elbceuf  -    78 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Abb6de  Fenelon  —  The  Jansenists  and  St  Sulpice— Alliance 
With  Madame  Guy  on— Preceptor  of  the  Royal  Children  — 
Acquaintance  With  Madame  de  Maintenon  —  Appointment  to 
Cambrai  —  Disclosure  of  Madame  Guyon's  Doctrines — Her 
Disgrace— Bossuet  and  F6nelon  —  Two  Rival  Books  — Dis- 
grace of  F6nelon  -  -  -  9° 

CHAPTER  IX. 

Death  of  Archbishop  Harlay— Scene  at  Conflans  —  « The  Good 
Langres» — A  Scene  at  Marly  —  Princesses  Smoke  Pipes!  — 
Fortunes  of  Cavoye  —  Madlle.  de  Coetlogon  —  Madame  de  Guise 
— Madame  de  Miramion — Madame  de  SeVign 6 —  Father  Sera- 
phin  —  An  Angry  Bishop  —  Death  of  La  Bruyere  —  Burglary 
by  a  Duke — Proposed  Marriage  of  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  — 
The  Duchess  de  Lude  —  A  Dangerous  Lady  —  Madame  d'O. 

—  Arrival  of  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  -    98 


CONTENTS  15 


CHAPTER  X. 

PAGE. 

My  Return  to  Fontainebleau  —  A  Calumny  at  Court  —  Portrait  of 
M.  de  La  Trappe  —  A  False  Painter  —  Fast  Living  at  the 
«  Desert » —  Comte  d'Auvergne  —  Perfidy  of  Harlay  —  M.  de 
Monaco — Madame  Panache  —  The  Italian  Actors  and  «The 
False  Prude8  -  -  -  -  -  -  -no 


CHAPTER   XI. 

A  Scientific  Retreat — The  Peace  of  Ryswick  —  Prince  of  Conti 
King  of  Poland  —  His  Voyage  and  Reception  —  King  of  Eng- 
land Acknowledged  —  Due  de  Cond6  in  Burgundy  —  Strange 
Death  of  Santeuil  —  Duties  of  the  Prince  of  Darmstadt 
in  Spain  —  Madame  de  Maintenon's  Brother  —  Extravagant 
Dresses  —  Marriage  of  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  —  The  Bedding 
of  the  Princess — Grand  Balls  —  A  Scandalous  Bird  -  -  117 


CHAPTER    XII. 

An  Odd  Marriage  —  Black  Daughter  of  the  King  —  Travels  of  Peter 
the  Great  —  Magnificent  English  Ambassador  —  The  Prince  of 
Parma  —  A  Dissolute  Abbe —  Orondat  —  Dispute  about  Mourn- 
ing —  M.  de  Cambrai's  Book  Condemned  by  M.  de  La  Trappe  — 
Anecdote  of  the  Head  of  Madame  de  Montbazon  —  Condemna- 
tion of  Fenelon  by  the  Pope  —  His  Submission  -  -  -129 


CHAPTER     XIII. 

Charnac6  —  An  Odd  Ejectment  —  A  Squabble  at  Cards  —  Birth  of 
My  Son  —  The  Camp  at  Compiegne  —  Splendor  of  Marechal 
Boufflers  —  Pique  of  the  Ambassadors  — Tess6's  Gray  Hat  —  A 
Sham  Siege  —  A  Singular  Scene  —  The  King  and  Madame  de 
Maintenon  —  An  Astonished  Officer — Breaking  up  of  the  Camp  139 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Gervaise,  Monk  of  La  Trappe  —  His  Disgusting  Profligacy  —  The 
Author  of  the  Lord's  Prayer  —  A  Struggle  for  Precedence  — 
Mme.  de  Saint-Simon  —  The  End  of  the  Quarrel  —  Death  of 
the  Chevalier  de  Coislin  —  A  Ludicrous  Incident — Death  of 
Racine  —  The  King  and  the  Poet  —  King  Pays  Debts  of  Cour- 
tiers—  Impudence  of  M.  de  VendSme  —  A  Mysterious  Murder 
—  Extraordinary  Theft.  -  149 


16  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   XV. 

PAOB. 

The  Farrier  of  Salon  —  Apparition  of  a  Queen  —  The  Farrier  Comes 
to  Versailles — Revelations  to  the  Queen — Supposed  Explana- 
tion—  New  Distinctions  to  the  Bastards  —  New  Statue  of  the 
King — Disappointment  of  Harlay  —  Honesty  of  Chamillart  — 
The  Comtesse  de  Fiesque  —  Daughter  of  Jacquier  —  Impudence 
of  Saumery  —  Amusing  Scene — Attempted  Murder  -  -  160 

CHAPTER    XVI. 

Reform  at  Court  —  Cardinal  Delfini  —  Pride  of  M.  de  Monaco  — 
Early  Life  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  —  Madame  de  Navailles  — 
Balls  at  Marly  —  An  Odd  Mask —  Great  Dancing  —  Fortunes  of 
Langlee  —  His  Coarseness  —  The  Abb6  de  Soubise  —  Intrigues 
for  His  Promotion — Disgrace  and  Obstinacy  of  Cardinal  de 
Bouillon  -  -  -  170 

CHAPTER    XVII. 

A  Marriage  Bargain  —  Mademoiselle  de  Mailly  —  James  II.  Begging 
Champagne  —  A  Duel  —  Death  of  Le  Notre  —  His  Character — 
History  of  Vassor  —  Comtesse  de  Verrue  and  her  Romance 
with  M.  de  Savoie  —  A  Race  of  Dwarfs  —  An  Indecorous  Inci- 
dent —  Death  of  M.  de  La  Trappe  ....  183 

CHAPTER    XVIII. 

Settlement  of  the  Spanish  Succession  —  King  William  III. —  New 
Party  in  Spain  —  Their  Attack  on  the  Queen  —  Perplexity 
of  the  King  —  His  Will — Scene  at  the  Palace  —  News  Sent  to 
France  —  Council  at  Madame  de  Maintenon's  —  The  King's 
Decision  —  A  Public  Declaration  —  Treatment  of  the  New  King 
—  His  Departure  for  Spain  —  Reflections —  Philip  V.  Arrives  in 
Spain  —  The  Queen  Dowager  Banished  -  -  193 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

Marriage  of  Philip  V. —  The  Queen's  Journey  —  Rival  Dishes — A 
Delicate  Quarrel — The  King's  Journey  to  Italy — The  Intrigues 
against  Catinat  —  Vaudemont's  Success  —  Appointment  of  Vil- 
leroy  —  The  First  Campaign  —  A  Snuffbox — Prince  Eugene's 
Plan  —  Attack  and  Defense  of  Cremona  —  Villeroy  Made  Pris- 
oner —  Appointment  of  M.  de  VendSme  -  -  205 


CONTENTS  17 

CHAPTER   XX. 

PAGB 

Discontent  and  Death  of  Barbezieux — His  Character  —  Elevation 
of  Chamillart  —  Strange  Reasons  of  His  Success  —  Death  of 
Rose  —  Anecdotes  —  An  Invasion  of  Foxes — M.  le  Prince  —  A 
Horse  upon  ROSES  —  Marriage  of  His  Daughter  —  His  Manners 
and  Appearance  -  -  -  -  -217 

CHAPTER    XXL 

Monseigneur's  Indigestion  —  The  King  Disturbed  —  The  Ladies  of 
the  Halle  —  Quarrel  of  the  King  and  His  Brother  —  Mutual 
Reproaches  —  Monsieur's  Confessors  —  A  New  Scene  of 
Wrangling  —  Monsieur  at  Table  —  He  is  Seized  with  Apoplexy 
—  The  News  Carried  to  Marly  —  How  Received  by  the  King — 
Death  of  Monsieur  —  Various  Forms  of  Grief  —  The  Due  de 
Chartres  ---.....  223 

CHAPTER    XXII. 

The  Dead  soon  Forgotten  —  Feelings  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  — 
And  of  the  Due  de  Chartres  —  Of  the  Courtiers  —  Madame's 
Mode  of  Life  —  Character  of  Monsieur  —  Anecdote  of  M.  le 
Prince  —  Strange  Interview  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  with 
Madame  —  Mourning  at  Court  —  Death  of  Henriette  d'Angle- 
terre  —  A  Poisoning  Scene  —  The  King  and  the  Accomplice  -  234 

CHAPTER    XXIII. 

Scandalous  Adventure  of  the  Abbesse  de  la  Joye  —  Anecdote  of 
Madame  de  Saint-Herem  —  Death  of  James  II.  and  Recognition 
of  His  Son — Alliance  against  France  —  Scene  at  St.  Maur  — 
Balls  and  Plays  —  The  (<  Electra  w  of  Longepierre  —  Romantic 
Adventures  of  the  Abb6  de  Vatteville  -  -  246 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Changes  in  the  Army  —  I  Leave  the  Service — Annoyance  of  the 
King  — The  Medallic  History  of  the  Reign— Louis  XIII.— 
Death  of  William  III. — Accession  of  Queen  Anne  —  The  Alli- 
ance Continued  —  Anecdotes  of  Catinat  —  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non and  the  King  -  -  255 

CHAPTER    XXV. 

Anecdote  of  Canaples  —  Death  of  the  Due  de  Coislin  —  Anecdotes 
of  His  Unbearable  Politeness  —  Eccentric  Character — President 
de  Novion  —  Death  of  M.  de  Lorges  —  Death  of  the  Duchess  de 
Gesvres  -  264 

2 


i8  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 

PAGE. 

The  Prince  d'Harcourt  — His  Character,  and  that  of  His  Wife  — 
Odd  Court  Lady  —  She  Cheats  at  Play — Scene  at  Fontainebleau 

—  Crackers  at  Marly  —  Snowballing  a  Princess — Strange  Man- 
ners of  Madame  d'Harcourt  —  Rebellion  Among  Her  Servants  — 

A  Vigorous  Chambermaid    -  -  -  -272 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 

Madame  des  Ursins  —  Her  Marriage  and  Character  —  The  Queen  of 
Spain  —  Ambition  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  —  Coronation  of 
Philip  V. —  A  Cardinal  Made  Colonel — Favorites  of  Madame 
des  Ursins  —  Her  Complete  Triumph  —  A  Mistake  —  A  Dis- 
patch Violated  —  Madame  des  Ursins  in  Disgrace  -  -  279 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

Appointment  of  the  Duke  of  Berwick  —  Deception  Practiced  by 
Orry — Anger  of  Louis  XIV. —  Dismissal  of  Madame  des  Ursins 

—  Her  Intrigues  to  Return  —  Annoyance  of  the  King  and  Queen 
of  Spain —  Intrigues  at   Versailles  —  Triumphant  Return  of 
Madame  des  Ursins  to  Court  —  Baseness  of  the  Courtiers  —  Her 
Return  to  Spain  Resolved  On  -  -  288 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

An  Honest  Courtier  —  Robbery  of  Courtin  and  Fieubet  —  An  Im- 
portant Affair —  My  Interview  With  the  King  —  His  Jealousy 
of  His  Authority  —  Madame  La  Queue,  the  King's  Daughter  — 
Battle  of  Blenheim  or  Hochstedt— Our  Defeat— Effect  of  the 
News  on  the  King  —  Public  Grief  and  Public  Rejoicing — Death 
of  My  Friend  Montfort  -  -  -  -  -  -  298 

CHAPTER  XXX. 

Naval  Battle  of  Malaga  —  Danger  of  Gibraltar  —  Duke  of  Mantua  in 
Search  of  a  Wife  —  Duchess  de  Lesdiguieres  —  Strange  Intrigues 
— Mademoiselle  d'Elbceuf  Carries  off  the  Prize  —  A  Curious 
Marriage — Its  Result  —  History  of  a  Conversion  to  Catholicism 

—  Attempted  Assassination — Singular  Seclusion  -311 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 

Fascination  of  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne —  Fortunes  of  Nangis  — 
He  is  Loved  by  the  Duchess  and  Her  Dame  d'Atours  —  Discre- 
tion of  the  Court  —  Maulevrier — His  Courtship  of  the  Duchess 

—  Singular    Trick  —  Its    Strange    Success  —  Mad  Conduct   of 
Maulevrier  —  He  is  Sent  to  Spain  —  His  Adventures  There  — 
His  Return  and  Tragical  Catastrophe         -  -  -  321 


CONTENTS  19 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 

PAGE. 

Death  of  M.  de  Duras  —  Selfishness  of  the  King  —  Anecdote  of  Puy- 
sieux — Character  of  Pontchartrain — Why  He  Ruined  the  French 
Fleet — Madame  des  Ursins  at  Last  Resolves  to  Return  to  Spain  — 
Favors  Heaped  Upon  Her  —  M.  de  Lauzun  at  the  Army  —  His 
ban  mot — Conduct  of  M.  de  Vendome —  Disgrace  and  Character 
of  the  Grand  Prieur  -  -  332 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

A  Hunting  Adventure  —  Story  and  Catastrophe  of  Fargues — Death 
and  Character  of  Ninon  de  1'Enclos —  Odd  Adventure  of  Court- 
en  vaux —  Spies  at  Court — New  Enlistment — Wretched  State 
of  the  Country  —  Balls  at  Marly  -  -341 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Arrival  of  Vendome  at  Court  —  Character  of  that  Disgusting  Person- 
age—  Rise  of  Cardinal  Alberoni  —  Vendome's  Reception  at  ; 
Marly  —  His  Unheard-of  Triumph  —  His  High  Flight — Returns 
to  Italy  —  Battle  of  Calcinate  —  Condition  of  the  Army  —  Pique 
of  the  Marechal  de  Villeroy  —  Battle  of  Ramilies  —  Its  Conse- 
quences ...  .  349 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

Abandonment  of  the  Siege  of  Barcelona — Affairs  of  Italy  —  La 
Feuillade  —  Disastrous  Rivalries  —  Conduct  of  M.  d'Orleans — 
The  Siege  of  Turin  —  Battle  —  Victory  of  Prince  Eugene  —  In- 
subordination in  the  Army —  Retreat  —  M.  d'Orleans  Returns 
to  Court — Disgrace  of  La  Feuillade  -  -  360 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Measures  of  Economy  —  Financial  Embarrassments — The  King 
and  Chamillart  —  Tax  on  Baptisms  and  Marriages  —  Vauban's 
Patriotism —  Its  punishment —  My  Action  with  M.  de  Brissac  — 
I  Appeal  to  the  King  —  The  Result —  I  Gain  My  Action  -  -  369 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

My  Appointment  as  Ambassador  to  Rome  —  How  It  Fell  Through 
—  Anecdotes  of  the  Bishop  of  Orleans  —  A  Droll  Song  —  A 
Saint  in  Spite  of  Himself  —  Fashionable  Crimes  —  A  Forged 
Genealogy  —  Abduction  of  Beringhen  —  The  Parvulos  of  Meud- 
on  and  Mademoiselle  Choin  ...  .  378 


20  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

MM. 

Death  and  Last  Days  of  Madame  de  Montespan  —  Selfishness  of  the 
King  —  Death  and  Character  of  Madame  de  Nemours  —  Neuf- 
chatel  and  Prussia  —  Campaign  of  Villars  —  Naval  Successes 
—  Inundations  of  the  Loire  —  Siege  of  Toulon  —  A  Quarrel 
About  News  —  Quixotic  Dispatches  of  Tess6  -  -  -391 


MEMOIRS 


OF    THE 


DUKE  OF  SAINT-SIMON 


CHAPTER    I. 

My  Birth  and  Family  —  Early  Life  —  Desire  to  Join  the  Army  —  Enter 
the  Musketeers  —  The  Campaign  Commences  —  Camp  of  Gevries  — 
Siege  of  Namur  —  Dreadful  Weather  —  Gentlemen  Carrying  Corn  — 
Sufferings  During  the  Siege  —  The  Monks  of  Marlaigne  —  Rival 
Couriers  —  Naval  Battle  —  Playing  with  Firearms  —  A  Prediction 
Verified. 


I  WAS  born  on  the  night  of  the  isth  of  January,  1675, 
of  Claude  Due  de  Saint-Simon,*  Peer  of  France,  and 
of  his  second  wife  Charlotte  de  1'Aubepine.  I  was  the 
only  child  of  that  marriage.  By  his  first  wife,  Diana  de 
Budos,  my  father  had  had  only  a  daughter.  He  married 
her  to  the  Due  de  Brissac,  Peer  of  France,  only  brother 
of  the  Duchess  de  Villeroy.  She  died  in  1684,  without 
children,  —  having  been  long  before  separated  from  a 
husband  who  was  unworthy  of  her  —  leaving  me  heir  of 
all  her  property. 

I  bore  the  name  of  the  Vidame  de  Chartres;  and  was 
educated  with  great  care  and  attention.  My  mother,  who 
was  remarkable  for  virtue,  perseverance,  and  sense,  busied 
herself  continually  in  forming  my  mind  and  body.  She 
feared  for  me  the  usual  fate  of  young  men,  who  believe 
their  fortunes  made,  and  who  find  themselves  their  own 
masters  early  in  life.  It  was  not  likely  that  my  father, 
born  in  1606,  would  live  long  enough  to  ward  off  from  me 

*See  Introduction. 

(21) 


22  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

this  danger ;  and  my  mother  repeatedly  impressed  on  me 
how  necessary  it  was  for  a  young  man,  the  son  of  the 
favorite  of  a  King  long  dead, —  with  no  new  friends  at 
Court, —  to  acquire  some  personal  value  of  his  own.  She 
succeeded  in  stimulating  my  courage;  and  in  exciting  in 
me  the  desire  to  make  the  acquisitions  she  laid  stress  on; 
but  my  aptitude  for  study  and  the  sciences  did  not  come 
up  to  my  desire  to  succeed  in  them.  However,  I  had  an 
innate  inclination  for  reading,  especially  works  of  history ; 
and  thus  was  inspired  with  ambition  to  emulate  the  ex- 
amples presented  to  my  imagination, —  to  do  something 
and  become  somebody,  which  partly  made  amends  for 
my  coldness  for  letters.  In  fact,  I  have  always  thought 
that  if  I  had  been  allowed  to  read  history  more  con- 
stantly, instead  of  losing  my  time  in  studies  for  which 
I  had  no  aptness,  I  might  have  made  some  figure  in  the 
world. 

What  I  read  of  my  own  accord,  of  history,  and,  above 
all,  of  the  personal  memoirs  of  the  times  since  Francis 
I.,  bred  in  me  the  desire  to  write  down  what  I  might 
myself  see.  The  hope  of  advancement,  and  of  becoming 
familiar  with  the  affairs  of  my  time,  stirred  me.  The 
annoyances  I  might  thus  bring  upon  myself  did  not  fail 
to  present  themselves  to  my  mind;  but  the  firm  resolu- 
tion I  made  to  keep  my  writings  secret  from  everybody, 
appeared  to  me  to  remedy  all  evils.  I  commenced  my 
a Memoirs*  then  in  July,  1694,  being  at  that  time  colonel 
of  a  cavalry  regiment  bearing  my  name,  in  the  camp  of 
Guinsheim,  upon  the  old  Rhine,  in  the  army  commanded 
by  the  Mare'chal  Due  de  Lorges. 

In  1691  I  was  studying  my  philosophy  and  beginning 
to  learn  to  ride  at  an  academy  at  Rochefort, —  getting 
mightily  tired  of  masters  and  books,  and  anxious  to  join 
the  army.  The  siege  of  Mons,  formed  by  the  King  in 
person,  at  the  commencement  of  the  spring,  had  drawn 
away  all  the  young  men  of  my  age  to  commence  their 
first  campaign;  and,  what  piqued  me  most,  the  Due  de 
Chartres  was  there,  too.  I  had  been,  as  it  were,  edu- 
cated with  him.  I  was  younger  than  he  by  eight  months ; 
and  if  the  expression  be  allowed  in  speaking  of  young 
people,  so  unequal  in  position,  friendship  had  united  us. 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  23 

I  made  tip  my  mind,  therefore,  to  escape  from  my  lead- 
ing strings;  but  pass  lightly  over  the  artifices  I  used  in 
order  to  attain  success.  I  addressed  myself  to  my  mother. 
I  soon  saw  that  she  trifled  with  me.  I  had  recourse  to 
my  father,  whom  I  made  believe  that  the  King,  having 
led  a  great  siege  this  year,  would  rest  the  next.  I  said 
nothing  of  this  to  my  mother,  who  did  not  discover  my 
plot  until  it  was  just  upon  the  point  of  execution. 

The  King  had  determined  rigidly  to  adhere  to  a  rule 
he  had  laid  down — namely,  that  none  who  entered  the 
service,  except  his  illegitimate  children,  and  the  princes 
of  the  blood  royal,  should  be  exempt  from  serving  for  a 
year  in  one  of  his  two  companies  of  musketeers;  and 
passing  afterward  through  the  ordeal  of  being  private  or 
subaltern  in  one  of  the  regiments  of  cavalry  or  infantry, 
—  before  receiving  permission  to  purchase  a  regiment. 
My  father  took  me,  therefore,  to  Versailles,  where  he 
had  not  been  for  many  years,  and  begged  of  the  King 
admission  for  me  into  the  musketeers.  It  was  on  the 
day  of  St.  Simon  St.  Jude,  at  half  past  twelve,  and  just 
as  his  Majesty  came  out  of  the  Council. 

The  King  did  my  father  the  honor  of  embracing  him 
three  times,  and  then  turned  toward  me.  Finding  that 
I  was  little  and  of  delicate  appearance,  he  said  I  was 
still  very  young;  to  which  my  father  replied,  that  I 
should  be  able  in  consequence  to  serve  longer.  There- 
upon the  King  demanded  in  which  of  the  two  companies 
he  wished  to  put  me;  and  my  father  named  that  com- 
manded by  Maupertuis,  who  was  one  of  his  friends. 
The  King  relied  much  upon  the  information  given  him 
by  the  captains  of  the  two  companies  of  musketeers,  as 
to  the  young  men  who  served  in  them.  I  have  reason 
for  believing,  that  I  owe  to  Maupertuis  the  first  good 
opinion  that  his  Majesty  had  of  me. 

Three  months  after  entering  the  musketeers,  that  is  to 
say,  in  the  March  of  the  following  year,  the  King  held 
a  review  of  his  guards,  and  of  the  gendarmerie,  at  Com- 
piegne,  and  I  mounted  guard  once  at  the  palace.  During 
this  little  journey  there  was  talk  of  a  much  more  im- 
portant one.  My  joy  was  extreme;  but  my  father,  who 
had  not  counted  upon  this,  repented  of  having  believed 


24  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

me,  when  I  told  him  that  the  King  would  no  doubt 
rest  at  Paris  this  year.  My  mother,  after  a  little  vexa- 
tion and  pouting  at  finding  me  enrolled  by  my  father 
against  her  will,  did  not  fail  to  bring  him  to  reason, 
and  to  make  him  provide  me  with  an  equipment  of 
thirty-five  horses  or  mules,  and  means  to  live  honorably. 

A  grievous  annoyance  happened  in  our  house  about 
three  weeks  before  my  departure.  A  steward  of  my 
father  named  Tess6,  who  had  been  with  him  many  years, 
disappeared  all  at  once  with  fifty  thousand  francs  due 
to  various  tradesfolk.  He  had  written  out  false  receipts 
from  these  people,  and  put  them  in  his  accounts.  He 
was  a  little  man  gentle,  affable,  and  clever;  who  had 
shown  some  probity,  and  who  had  many  friends. 

The  King  set  out  on  the  zoth  of  May,  1692,  with  the 
ladies;  and  I  performed  the  journey  on  horseback  with 
the  soldiers  and  all  the  attendants,  like  the  other  mus- 
keteers, and  continued  to  do  so  through  the  whole 
campaign.  I  was  accompanied  by  two  gentlemen;  the 
one  had  been  my  tutor,  the  other  was  my  mother's 
squire.  The  King's  army  was  formed  at  the  camp  of 
Gevries;  that  of  M.  de  Luxembourg  almost  joined  it. 
The  ladies  were  at  Mons,  two  leagues  distant.  The 
King  made  them  come  into  his  camp,  where  he  enter- 
tained them;  and  then  showed  them,  perhaps,  the  most 
superb  review  which  had  ever  been  seen.  The  two 
armies  were  ranged  in  two  lines,  the  right  of  M.  de 
Luxembourg's  touching  the  left  of  the  King's, —  the 
whole  extending  over  three  leagues  of  ground. 

After  stopping  ten  days  at  Gevries,  the  two  armies 
separated  and  marched.  Two  days  afterward  the  siege 
of  Namur  was  declared.  The  King  arrived  there  in  five 
days.  Monseigneur  (son  of  the  King);  Monsieur  (Due 
d'Orleans,  brother  of  the  King) ;  M.  le  Prince  (de  Conde) ; 
and  Mare"chal  d'Humie'res;  all  four,  the  one  under  the 
other,  commanded  in  the  King's  army  under  the  King 
himself.  The  Due  de  Luxembourg,  sole  general  of  his 
own  army,  covered  the  siege  operations,  and  observed 
the  enemy.  The  ladies  went  away  to  Dinant.  On  the 
third  day  of  the  march  M.  le  Prince  went  forward  to 
invest  the  place. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  25 

The  celebrated  Vauban,  the  life  and  soul  of  all  the 
sieges  the  King  made,  was  of  opinion  that  the  town 
should  be  attacked  separately  from  the  castle;  and  his 
advice  was  acted  upon.  The  Baron  de  Bresse,  however, 
who  had  fortified  the  place,  was  for  attacking  town  and 
castle  together.  He  was  a  humble  down-looking  man, 
whose  physiognomy  promised  nothing,  but  who  soon 
acquired  the  confidence  of  the  King,  and  the  esteem  of 
the  army. 

The  Prince  de  Conde,  Mare"chal  d'Humieres,  and  the 
Marquis  de  Boufflers  each  led  an  attack.  There  was 
nothing  worthy  of  note  during  the  ten  days  the  siege 
lasted.  On  the  eleventh  day,  after  the  trenches  had 
been  opened,  a  parley  was  beaten  and  a  capitulation 
made  almost  as  the  besieged  desired  it.  They  withdrew 
to  the  castle;  and  it  was  agreed  that  it  should  not  be 
attacked  from  the  town  side,  and  that  the  town  was  not 
to  be  battered  by  it.  During  the  siege  the  King  was 
almost  always  in  his  tent ;  and  the  weather  remained  con- 
stantly warm  and  serene.  We  lost  scarcely  anybody  of 
consequence.  The  Comte  de  Toulouse  received  a  slight 
wound  in  the  arm  while  quite  close  to  the  King,  who 
from  a  prominent  place  was  witnessing  the  attack  of  a 
half-moon,  which  was  carried  in  broad  daylight  by  a 
detachment  of  the  oldest  of  the  two  companies  of  mus- 
keteers. 

The  siege  of  the  castle  next  commenced.  The  posi- 
tion of  the  camp  was  changed.  The  King's  tents  and 
those  of  all  the  Court  were  pitched  in  a  beautiful  meadow 
about  five  hundred  paces  from  the  monastery  of  Mar- 
laigne.  The  fine  weather  changed  to  rain,  which  fell 
with  an  abundance  and  perseverance  never  before  known 
by  any  one  in  the  army.  This  circumstance  increased 
the  reputation  of  Saint  Me"dard,  whose  fete  falls  on  the 
8th  of  June.  It  rained  in  torrents  that  day,  and  it  is 
said  that  when  such  is  the  case  it  will  rain  for  forty  days 
afterward.  By  chance  it  happened  so  this  year.  The 
soldiers  in  despair  at  this  deluge  uttered  many  impreca- 
tions against  the  Saint;  and  looked  for  images  of  him, 
burning  and  breaking  as  many  as  they  could  find.  The 
rains  sadly  interfered  with  the  progress  of  the  siege. 


26  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

The  tents  of  the  King  could  only  be  communicated  with 
by  paths  laid  with  fascines  which  required  to  be  re- 
newed every  day,  as  they  sank  down  into  the  soil.  The 
camps  and  quarters  were  no  longer  accessible ;  the  trenches 
were  full  of  mud  and  water,  and  it  took  often  three  days 
to  remove  cannon  from  one  battery  to  another.  The 
wagons  became  useless  too,  so  that  the  transport  of 
bombs,  shot,  and  so  forth,  could  not  be  performed  ex- 
cept upon  the  backs  of  mules  and  of  horses  taken  from 
the  equipages  of  the  Court  and  the  army.  The  state  of 
the  roads  deprived  the  Due  de  Luxembourg  of  the  use 
of  wagons  and  other  vehicles.  His  army  was  perishing 
for  want  of  grain.  To  remedy  this  inconvenience  the 
King  ordered  all  his  household  troops  to  mount  every 
day  on  horseback  by  detachments,  and  to  take  sacks  of 
grain  upon  their  cruppers  to  a  village  where  they  were 
to  be  received  and  counted  by  the  officers  of  the  Due 
de  Luxembourg.  Although  the  household  of  the  King 
had  scarcely  any  repose  during  this  siege,  what  with 
carrying  fascines,  furnishing  guards,  and  other  daily  ser- 
vices, this  increase  of  duty  was  given  to  it  because  the 
cavalry  served  continually  also,  and  was  reduced  almost 
entirely  to  leaves  of  trees  for  provender. 

The  household  of  the  King,  accustomed  to  all  sorts  of 
distinctions,  complained  bitterly  of  this  task.  But  the 
King  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  them,  and  would  be  obeyed. 
On  the  first  day  some  of  the  Gendarmes  and  of  the  light 
horse  of  the  guard  arrived  early  in  the  morning  at  the 
depot  of  the  sacks,  and  commenced  murmuring  and  ex- 
citing each  other  by  their  discourses.  They  threw  down 
the  sacks  at  last  and  flatly  refused  to  carry  them.  I  had 
been  asked  very  politely  if  I  would  be  of  the  detachment 
for  the  sacks  or  of  some  other.  I  decided  for  the  sacks, 
because  I  felt  that  I  might  thereby  advance  myself,  the 
subject  having  already  made  much  noise.  I  arrived  with 
the  detachment  of  the  musketeers  at  the  moment  of  the 
refusal  of  the  others;  and  I  loaded  my  sack  before  their 
eyes.  Marin,  a  brigadier  of  cavalry  and  lieutenant  of 
the  body  guards,  who  was  there  to  superintend  the  opera- 
tion, noticed  me,  and  full  of  anger  at  the  refusal  he  had 
just  met  with,  exclaimed  that  as  I  did  not  think  such 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  27 

work  beneath  me,  the  rest  would  do  well  to  imitate  my 
example.  Without  a  word  being  spoken  each  took  up 
his  sack;  and  from  that  time  forward  no  further  diffi- 
culty occurred  in  the  matter.  As  soon  as  the  detachment 
had  gone,  Marin  went  straight  to  the  King  and  told  him 
what  had  occurred.  This  was  a  service  which  procured 
for  me  several  obliging  discourses  from  his  Majesty,  who 
during  the  rest  of  the  siege  always  sought  to  say  some- 
thing agreeable  every  time  he  met  me. 

The  twenty- seventh  day  after  opening  the  trenches, 
that  is,  the  first  of  July,  1692,  a  parley  was  sounded  by 
the  Prince  de  Barbangon,  governor  of  the  place, —  a 
fortunate  circumstance  for  the  besiegers,  who  were  worn 
out  with  fatigue,  and  destitute  of  means,  on  account  of 
the  wretched  weather  which  still  continued,  and  which 
had  turned  the  whole  country  round  into  a  quagmire. 
Even  the  horses  of  the  King  lived  upon  leaves,  and  not 
a  horse  of  all  our  numerous  cavalry  ever  thoroughly  re- 
covered from  the  effects  of  such  sorry  fare.  It  is  certain 
that  without  the  presence  of  the  King  the  siege  might 
never  have  been  successful;  but  he  being  there,  every- 
body was  stimulated.  Yet  had  the  place  held  out  ten 
days  longer,  there  is  no  saying  what  might  have  hap- 
pened. Before  the  end  of  the  siege  the  King  was  so 
much  fatigued  with  his  exertions,  that  a  new  attack  of 
gout  came  on,  with  more  pain  than  ever,  and  compelled 
him  to  keep  his  bed,  where,  however,  he  thought  of 
everything,  and  laid  out  his  plans  as  though  he  had  been 
at  Versailles. 

During  the  entire  siege,  the  Prince  of  Orange  (William 
III.  of  England)  had  unavailingly  used  all  his  science  to 
dislodge  the  Due  de  Luxembourg ;  but  he  had  to  do  with 
a  man  who  in  matters  of  war  was  his  superior,  and  who 
continued  so  all  his  life.  Namur,  which,  by  the  surrender 
of  the  castle,  was  now  entirely  in  our  power,  was  one  of 
the  strongest  places  in  the  Low  Countries,  and  had 
hitherto  boasted  of  having  never  changed  masters.  The 
inhabitants  could  not  restain  their  tears  of  sorrow.  Even 
the  monks  of  Marlaigne  were  profoundly  moved,  so  much 
so,  that  they  could  not  disguise  their  grief.  The  King, 
feeling  for  the  loss  of  their  corn  that  they  had  sent  for 


28  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

safety  into  Namur,  gave  them  double  the  quantity,  and 
abundant  alms.  He  incommoded  them  as  little  as  possible, 
and  would  not  permit  the  passage  of  cannon  across  their 
park,  until  it  was  found  impossible  to  transport  it  by  any 
other  road.  Notwithstanding  these  acts  of  goodness,  they 
could  scarcely  look  upon  a  Frenchman  after  the  taking  of 
the  place;  and  one  actually  refused  to  give  a  bottle  of 
beer  to  an  usher  of  the  King's  antechamber,  although 
offered  a  bottle  of  champagne  in  exchange  for  it! 

A  circumstance  happened  just  after  the  taking  of  Na- 
mur, which  might  have  led  to  the  saddest  results,  under 
any  other  prince  than  the  King.  Before  he  entered 
the  town,  a  strict  examination  of  every  place  was  made, 
although  by  the  capitulation  all  the  mines,  magazines,  etc. 
had  to  be  shown.  At  a  visit  paid  to  the  Jesuits,  they  pre- 
tended to  show  everything,  expressing,  however,  surprise 
and  something  more,  that  their  bare  word  was  not  enough. 
But  on  examining  here  and  there,  where  they  did  not 
expect  search  would  be  made,  their  cellars  were  found  to 
be  stored  with  gunpowder,  of  which  they  had  taken  good 
care  to  say  no  word.  What  they  meant  to  do  with  it  is 
uncertain.  It  was  carried  away,  and  as  they  were  Jesuits 
nothing  was  done. 

During  the  course  of  this  siege,  the  King  suffered  a 
cruel  disappointment.  James  II.  of  England,  then  a 
refugee  in  France,  had  advised  the  King  to  give  battle  to 
the  English  fleet.  Joined  to  that  of  Holland  it  was  very 
superior  to  the  sea  forces  of  France.  Tourville,  our  ad- 
miral, so  famous  for  his  valor  and  skill,  pointed  this  cir- 
cumstance out  to  the  King.  But  it  was  all  to  no  effect. 
He  was  ordered  to  attack  the  enemy.  He  did  so.  Many 
of  his  ships  were  burned,  and  the  victory  was  won  by  the 
English.  A  courier  intrusted  with  this  sad  intelligence 
was  dispatched  to  the  King.  On  his  way  he  was  joined 
by  another  courier,  who  pressed  him  for  his  news.  The 
first  courier  knew  that  if  he  gave  up  his  news,  the  other, 
who  was  better  mounted,  would  outstrip  him,  and  be  the 
first  to  carry  it  to  the  King.  He  told  his  companion, 
therefore,  an  idle  tale,  very  different  indeed  from  the 
truth,  for  he  changed  the  defeat  into  a  great  victory.  Hav- 
ing gained  this  wonderful  intelligence,  the  second  courier 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  29 

put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and  hurried  away  to  the  King's 
camp,  eager  to  be  the  bearer  of  good  tidings.  He  reached 
the  camp  first,  and  was  received  with  delight.  While  his 
majesty  was  still  in  great  joy  at  his  happy  victory,  the 
other  courier  arrived  with  the  real  details.  The  Court 
appeared  prostrated.  The  King  was  much  afflicted. 
Nevertheless  he  found  means  to  appear  to  retain  his  self- 
possession,  and  I  saw,  for  the  first  time,  that  Courts  are 
not  long  in  affliction  or  occupied  with  sadness.  I  must 
mention  that  the  (exiled)  King  of  England  looked  on  at 
this  naval  battle  from  the  shore;  and  was  accused  of  al- 
lowing expressions  of  partiality  to  escape  him  in  favor  of 
his  countrymen,  although  none  had  kept  their  promises 
to  him. 

Two  days  after  the  defeated  garrison  had  marched  out, 
the  King  went  to  Dinant  to  join  the  ladies,  with  whom 
he  returned  to  Versailles.  I  had  hoped  that  Monseigneur 
would  finish  the  campaign,  and  that  I  should  be  with 
him,  and  it  was  not  without  regret  that  I  returned  toward 
Paris.  On  the  way  a  little  circumstance  happened.  One 
of  our  halting  places  was  Marienburgh,  where  we  camped 
for  the  night.  I  had  become  united  in  friendship  with 
Comte  de  Coetquen,  who  was  in  the  same  company  with 
myself.  He  was  well  instructed  and  full  of  wit;  was  ex- 
ceedingly rich,  and  even  more  idle  than  rich.  That  even- 
ing he  had  invited  several  of  us  to  supper  in  his  tent.  I 
went  there  early,  and  found  him  stretched  out  upon  his 
bed,  from  which  I  dislodged  him  playfully  and  laid  my- 
self down  in  his  place,  several  of  our  officers  standing 
by.  Coetquen,  sporting  with  me  in  return,  took  his  gun, 
which  he  thought  to  be  unloaded,  and  pointed  it  at  me. 
But  to  our  great  surprise  the  weapon  went  off.  Fortu- 
nately for  me,  I  was  at  that  moment  lying  flat  upon  the 
bed.  Three  balls  passed  just  above  my  head,  and  then 
just  above  the  heads  of  our  two  tutors,  who  were  walking 
outside  the  tent.  Coetquen  fainted  at  thought  of  the 
mischief  he  might  have  done,  and  we  had  all  the  pains 
in  the  world  to  bring  him  to  himself  again:  indeed  he 
did  not  thoroughly  recover  for  several  days.  I  relate 
this  as  a  lesson  which  ought  to  teach  us  never  to  play 
with  firearms. 


30        MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

The  poor  lad, — to  finish  at  once  all  that  concerns  him, 
—  did  not  long  survive  this  incident.  He  entered  the 
King's  regiment,  and  when  just  upon  the  point  of  join- 
ing it  in  the  following  spring,  came  to  me  and  said  he 
had  had  his  fortune  told  by  a  woman  named  Du  Perchoir, 
who  practiced  her  trade  secretly  at  Paris,  and  that  she 
had  predicted  he  would  be  soon  drowned.  I  rated  him 
soundly  for  indulging  a  curiosity  so  dangerous  and  so  fool- 
ish. A  few  days  after  he  set  out  for  Amiens.  He  found 
another  fortune-teller  there,  a  man,  who  made  the  same 
prediction.  In  marching  afterward  with  the  regiment  of 
the  King  to  join  the  army,  he  wished  to  water  his  horse 
in  the  Escaut,  and  was  drowned  there,  in  the  presence 
of  the  whole  regiment,  without  it  being  possible  to  give 
him  any  aid.  I  felt  extreme  regret  for  his  loss,  which 
for  his  friends  and  his  family  was  irreparable. 

But  I  must  go  back  a  little,  and  speak  of  two  marriages 
that  took  place  at  the  commencement  of  this  year,  the 
first  (most  extraordinary)  on  the  i8th  of  February,  the 
other  a  month  after. 


CHAPTER    II. 

The  King's  natural  Children  —  Proposed  Marriage  of  the  Due  de  Char- 
tres  —  Influence  of  Dubois  —  The  Due  and  the  King  —  An  Apart- 
ment—  Announcement  of  the  Marriage  —  Anger  of  Madame  — 
Household  of  the  Duchess  —  Villars  and  Rochefort  —  Friend  of 
King's  Mistresses — The,  Marriage  Ceremony  —  Toilet  of  the  Duch- 
ess—  Son  of  Montbron  —  Marriage  of  M.  du  Maine  —  Duchess  of 
Hanover  —  Due  de  Choiseul  —  La  Grande  Mademoiselle. 

THE  King  was  very  anxious  to  establish  his  illegitimate 
children,  whom  he  advanced  day  by  day;  and 
had  married  two  of  them,  daughters,  to  Princes  of  the 
blood.  One  of  these,  the  Princess  de  Conti,  only  daughter 
of  the  King  and  Madame  de  la  Valliere,  was  a  widow 
without  children;  the  other,  eldest  daughter  of  the  King 
and  Madame  de  Montespan,  had  married  Monsieur  le  Due 
(Louis  de  Bourbon,  eldest  son  of  the  Prince  de  Conde"). 
For  some  time  past  Madame  de  Maintenon,  even  more 
than  the  King,  had  thought  of  nothing  else  than  how  to 
raise  the  remaining  illegitimate  children,  and  wished  to 
marry  Mademoiselle  de  Blois  (second  daughter  of  the 
King  and  of  Madame  de  Montespan)  to  Monsieur  the  Due 
de  Chartres.  The  Due  de  Chartres  was  the  sole  nephew 
of  the  King,  and  was  much  above  the  Princes  of  the 
blood  by  his  rank  of  GRANDSON  of  France,  and  by  the 
Court  that  Monsieur  his  father  kept  up. 

The  marriage  of  the  two  Princes  of  the  blood,  of  which 
I  have  just  spoken,  had  scandalized  all  the  world.  The 
King  was  not  ignorant  of  this;  and  he  could  thus  judge 
of  the  effept  of  a  marriage  even  more  startling;  such  as 
was  this  proposed  one.  But  for  four  years  he  had  turned 
it  over  in  his  mind  and  had  even  taken  the  first  steps  to 
bring  it  about.  It  was  the  more  difficult  because  the 
father  of  the  Due  de  Chartres  was  infinitely  proud  of  his 
rank,  and  the  mother  belonged  to  a  nation  which  ab- 
horred illegitimacy  and  misalliances,  and  was  indeed  of  a 
character  to  forbid  all  hope  of  her  ever  relishing  this 
marriage. 

(31) 


32  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

In  order  to  vanquish  all  these  obstacles,  the  King  ap- 
plied to  M.  le  Grand  ( Louis  de  Lorraine ).  This  person 
was  brother  of  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  the  favorite, 
by  disgraceful  means,  of  Monsieur,  father  of  the  Due  de 
Chartres.  The  two  brothers,  unscrupulous  and  corrupt, 
entered  willingly  into  the  scheme,  but  demanded  as  a 
reward,  paid  in  advance,  to  be  made  (<  Chevaliers  of  the 
Order.*  This  was  done,  although  somewhat  against  the 
inclination  of  the  King,  and  success  was  promised. 

The  young  Due  de  Chartres  had  at  that  time  for 
teacher  Dubois  (afterward  the  famous  Cardinal  Dubois), 
whose  history  was  singular.  He  had  formerly  been  a 
valet;  but  displaying  unusual  aptitude  for  learning,  had 
been  instructed  by  his  master  in  literature  and  history, 
and  in  due  time  passed  into  the  service  of  Saint  Laurent, 
who  was  the  Due  de  Chartres's  first  instructor.  He  became 
so  useful  and  showed  so  much  skill,  that  Saint  Laurent 
made  him  become  an  abbt.  Thus  raised  in  position  he 
passed  much  time  with  the  Due  de  Chartres,  assisting 
him  to  prepare  his  lessons,  to  write  his  exercises,  and  to 
look  out  words  in  the  dictionary.  I  have  seen  him  thus 
engaged  over  and  over  again,  when  I  used  to  go  and  play 
with  the  Due  de  Chartres.  As  Saint  Laurent  grew  infirm 
Dubois  little  by  little  supplied  his  place ;  supplied  it  well 
too,  and  yet  pleased  the  young  Due.  When  St.  Laurent 
died  Dubois  aspired  to  succeed  to  him.  He  had  paid  his 
court  to  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  by  whose  influence 
he  was  much  aided  in  obtaining  his  wish.  When  at  last 
appointed  successor  to  St.  Laurent,  I  never  saw  a  man 
so  glad,  nor  with  more  reason.  The  extreme  obligation 
he  was  under  to  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  and  still  more 
the  difficulty  of  maintaining  himself  in  his  new  position, 
attached  him  more  and  more  to  his  protector. 

It  was,  then,  Dubois  that  the  Chevalier  de  Lorraine 
made  use  of  to  gain  the  consent  of  the  young  Due  de 
Chartres  to  the  marriage  proposed  by  the  King.  Dubois 
had,  in  fact,  gained  the  Due's  confidence,  which  it  was 
easy  to  do  at  that  age ;  had  made  him  afraid  of  his  father 
and  of  the  King;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  had  filled  him 
with  fine  hopes  and  expectations.  All  that  Dubois  could 
do,  however,  when  he  broke  the  matter  of  the  marriage 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  33 

to  the  young  Due,  was  to  ward  off  a  direct  refusal;  but 
that  was  sufficient  for  the  success  of  the  enterprise. 
Monsieur  was  already  gained,  and  as  soon  as  the  King 
had  a  reply  from  Dubois  he  hastened  to  broach  the  affair. 
A  day  or  two  before  this,  however,  Madame  (Mother  of 
the  Due  de  Chartres)  had  scent  of  what  was  going  on. 
She  spoke  to  her  son  of  the  indignity  of  this  marriage 
with  that  force  in  which  she  was  never  wanting,  and 
drew  from  him  a  promise  that  he  would  not  consent  to  it. 
Thus,  he  was  feeble  toward  his  teacher,  feeble  toward 
his  mother,  and  there  was  aversion  on  the  one  hand  and 
fear  on  the  other,  and  great  embarrassment  on  all  sides. 

One  day  early  after  dinner  I  saw  M.  de  Chartres,  with 
a  very  sad  air,  come  out  of  his  apartment  and  enter  the 
closet  of  the  King.  He  found  his  Majesty  alone  with 
Monsieur.  The  King  spoke  very  obligingly  to  the  Due 
de  Chartres,  said  that  he  wished  to  see  him  married; 
that  he  offered  him  his  daughter,  but  that  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  constrain  him  in  the  matter,  but  left  him  quite 
at  liberty.  This  discourse,  however,  pronounced  with 
that  terrifying  majesty  so  natural  to  the  King,  and  ad- 
dressed to  a  timid  young  prince,  took  away  his  voice, 
and  quite  unnerved  him.  He  thought  to  escape  from  his 
slippery  position  by  throwing  himself  upon  Monsieur  and 
Madame,  and  stammeringly  replied  that  the  King  was 
master,  but  that  a  son's  will  depended  upon  that  of  his 
parents.  <(  What  you  say  is  very  proper, w  replied  the 
King;  <(but  as  soon  as  you  consent  to  my  proposition 
your  father  and  mother  will  not  oppose  it."  And  then 
turning  to  Monsieur  he  said,  (<  Is  this  not  true,  my 
brother  ? w  Monsieur  consented,  as  he  had  already  done, 
and  the  only  person  remaining  to  consult  was  Madame, 
who  was  immediately  sent  for. 

As  soon  as  she  came,  the  King,  making  her  acquainted 
with  his  project,  said  that  he  reckoned  she  would  not 
oppose  what  her  husband  and  her  son  had  already  agreed 
to.  Madame,  who  had  counted  upon  the  refusal  of  her 
son,  was  tongue-tied.  She  threw  two  furious  glances 
upon  Monsieur  and  upon  the  Due  de  Chartres,  and  then 
said  that,  as  they  wished  it,  she  had  nothing  to  say, 
made  a  slight  reverence,  and  went  away.  Her  son 
3 


34  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

immediately  followed  her  to  explain  his  conduct ;  but  rail- 
ing against  him,  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  she  would  not 
listen,  and  drove  him  from  her  room.  Her  husband, 
who  shortly  afterward  joined  her,  met  with  almost  the 
same  treatment. 

That  evening  an  (<  Apartment  *  was  held  at  the  palace, 
as  was  customary  three  times  a  week  during  the  winter; 
the  other  three  evenings  being-  set  apart  for  comedy,  and 
the  Sunday  being  free.  An  Apartment,  as  it  was  called, 
was  an  assemblage  of  all  the  Court  in  the  grand  salon, 
from  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  until  ten,  when  the 
King  sat  down  to  table;  and,  after  ten,  in  one  of  the 
salons  at  the  end  of  the  grand  gallery  toward  the  trib- 
une of  the  chapel.  In  the  first  place  there  was  some 
music:  then  tables  were  placed  all  about  for  all  kinds  of 
gambling ;  there  was  a  lansquenet,  at  which  Monsieur  and 
Monseigneur  always  played;  also  a  billiard  table;  in  a 
word,  everyone  was  free  to  play  with  everyone,  and 
allowed  to  ask  for  fresh  tables  if  all  the  others  were 
occupied.  Beyond  the  billiards  was  a  refreshment  room. 
All  was  perfectly  lighted.  At  the  outset,  the  King  went 
to  the  Apartments  very  often  and  played,  but  lately 
he  had  ceased  to  do  so.  He  spent  the  evening  with 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  working  with  different  ministers 
one  after  the  other.  But  still  he  wished  his  courtiers  to 
attend  assiduously. 

This  evening,  directly  after  the  music  had  finished, 
the  King  sent  for  Monseigneur  and  Monsieur,  who  were 
already  playing  at  lansquenet;  Madame,  who  scarcely 
looked  at  a  party  of  hombre  at  which  she  had  seated  her- 
self; the  Due  de  Chartres,  who,  with  a  rueful  visage, 
was  playing  at  chess;  and  Mademoiselle  de  Blois,  who 
had  scarcely  begun  to  appear  in  society,  but  who  this 
evening  was  extraordinarily  decked  out,  and  who,  as  yet, 
knew  nothing  and  suspected  nothing;  and  therefore,  be- 
ing naturally  very  timid,  and  horribly  afraid  of  the  King, 
believed  herself  sent  for  in  order  to  be  reprimanded, 
and  trembled  so  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  took  her 
upon  her  knees,  where  she  held  her,  but  was  scarcely 
able  to  reassure  her.  The  fact  of  these  royal  persons 
being  sent  for  by  the  King  at  once  made  people  think 


DUKE   OP   SAINT-SIMON  35 

that  a  marriage  was  in  contemplation.  In  a  few  min- 
utes they  returned,  and  then  the  announcement  was 
made  public.  I  arrived  at  that  moment.  I  found  every- 
body in  clusters,  and  great  astonishment  expressed  upon 
every  face.  Madame  was  walking  in  the  gallery  with 
Chateauthiers  —  her  favorite,  and  worthy  of  being  so. 
She  took  long  strides,  her  handkerchief  in  her  hand, 
weeping  without  constraint,  speaking  pretty  loudly,  ges- 
ticulating, and  looking  like  Ceres  after  the  rape  of  her 
daughter  Proserpine,  seeking  her  in  fury,  and  demand- 
ing her  back  from  Jupiter.  Everyone  respectfully  made 
way  to  let  her  pass.  Monsieur,  who  had  returned  to 
lansquenet,  seemed  overwhelmed  with  shame,  and  his 
son  appeared  in  despair,  and  the  bride-elect  was  marvel- 
ously  embarrassed  and  sad.  Though  very  young,  and 
likely  to  be  dazzled  by  such  a  marriage,  she  understood 
what  was  passing,  and  feared  the  consequences.  Most 
people  appeared  full  of  consternation. 

The  Apartment,  which,  however  heavy  in  appearance 
was  full  of  interest  to  me,  seemed  quite  short.  It 
finished  by  the  supper  of  the  King.  His  Majesty  ap- 
peared quite  at  ease.  Madame's  eyes  were  full  of  tears, 
which  fell  from  time  to  time  as  she  looked  into  every 
face  around,  as  if  in  search  of  all  our  thoughts.  Her 
son,  whose  eyes  too  were  red,  she  would  not  give  a 
glance  to;  nor  to  Monsieur:  all  three  ate  scarcely  any- 
thing. I  remarked  that  the  King  offered  Madame  nearly 
all  the  dishes  that  were  before  him,  and  that  she  refused 
with  an  air  of  rudeness,  which  did  not,  however,  check 
his  politeness.  It  was  furthermore  noticeable  that,  after 
leaving  the  table,  he  made  to  Madame  a  very  marked 
and  very  low  reverence,  during  which  she  performed  so 
complete  a  pirouette,  that  the  King  on  raising  his  head 
found  nothing  but  her  back  before  him,  removed  about 
a  step  further  toward  the  door. 

On  the  morrow  we  went  as  usual  to  wait  in  the  gal- 
lery for  the  breaking  up  of  the  Council,  and  for  the  King's 
mass.  Madame  came  there.  Her  son  approached  her,  as 
he  did  every  day,  to  kiss  her  hand.  At  that  very  moment 
she  gave  him  a  box  on  the  ear,  so  sonorous  that  it  was 
heard  several  steps  distant.  Such  treatment  in  presence 


36  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

of  all  the  Court  covered  with  confusion  this  unfortunate 
prince,  and  overwhelmed  the  infinite  number  of  specta- 
tors, of  whom  I  was  one,  with  prodigious  astonish- 
ment. 

That  day  the  immense  dowry  was  declared ;  and  on  Sun- 
day there  was  a  grand  ball,  that  is,  a  ball  opened  by  a 
branle,  which  settled  the  order  of  the  dancing  through- 
out the  evening.  Monseigneur  the  Due  de  Bourgogne 
danced  on  this  occasion  for  the  first  time,  and  led  off  the 
branle  with  Mademoiselle.  I  danced  also  for  the  first 
time  at  Court.  My  partner  was  Mademoiselle  de  Sourches, 
daughter  of  the  Grand  PreVot;  she  danced  excellently. 
I  had  been  that  morning  to  wait  on  Madame,  who  could 
not  refrain  from  saying,  in  a  sharp  and  angry  voice,  that 
I  was  doubtless  very  glad  of  the  promise  of  so  many 
balls  —  that  this  was  natural  at  my  age ;  but  that,  for  her 
part,  she  was  old,  and  wished  they  were  well  over.  A 
few  days  after,  the  contract  of  marriage  was  signed  in 
the  closet  of  the  King,  and  in  the  presence  of  all  the 
Court.  The  same  day  the  household  of  the  future  Duch- 
ess de  Chartres  was  declared.  The  King  gave  her  a  first 
gentleman  usher  and  a  Dame  d'Atours,  until  then  re- 
served to  the  daughters  of  France,  and  a  lady  of  honor, 
in  order  to  carry  out  completely  so  strange  a  novelty.  I 
must  say  something  about  the  persons  who  composed  this 
household. 

M.  de  Villars  was  gentleman  usher;  he  was  grandson 
•of  a  recorder  of  Coindrieu,  and  one  of  the  best  made 
men  in  France.  There  was  a  great  deal  of  fighting  in 
his  young  days,  and  he  had  acquired  a  reputation  for 
-courage  and  skill.  To  these  qualities  he  owed  his  for- 
tune. M.  de  Nemours  was  his  first  patron,  and,  in  a  duel 
which  he  had  with  M.  de  Beaufort,  took  Villars  for  sec- 
•ond.  M.  de  Nemours  was  killed;  but  Villars  was  victori- 
ous against  his  adversary,*  and  passed  into  the  service 
of  the  Prince  de  Conti  as  one  of  his  gentlemen.  He 
succeeded  in  gaining  confidence  in  his  new  employment; 
so  much  so,  that  the  marriage  which  afterward  took  place 
between  the  Prince  de  Conti  and  the  niece  of  Cardinal 
Mazarin  was  brought  about  in  part  by  his  assistance. 

*  The  seconds  used  to  fight  as  well  as  the  principals  in  those  days. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  37 

He  became  the  confidant  of  the  married  pair,  and  their 
bond  of  union  with  the  Cardinal.  His  position  gave  him 
an  opportunity  of  mixing  in  society  much  above  him; 
but  on  this  he  never  presumed.  His  face  was  his  pass- 
port with  the  ladies;  he  was  gallant,  even  discreet;  and 
this  means  was  not  unuseful  to  him.  He  pleased  Madame 
Scarron,  who*  upon  the  throne  never  forgot  the  friend- 
ships of  this  kind,  so  freely  intimate,  which  she  had 
formed  as  a  private  person.  Villars  was  employed  in 
diplomacy ;  and  from  honor  to  honor,  at  last  reached  the 
order  of  the  Saint  Esprit,  in  1698.  His  wife  was  full  of 
wit,  and  scandalously  inclined.  Both  were  very  poor  — 
and  always  dangled  about  the  Court  where  they  had 
many  powerful  friends. 

The  Marechale  de  Rochefort  was  lady  of  honor.  She 
was  of  the  house  of  Montmorency  —  a  widow  —  handsome 
—  sprightly;  formed  by  nature  to  live  at  Court  —  apt  for 
gallantry  and  intrigues;  full  of  worldly  cleverness,  from 
living  much  in  the  world,  with  little  cleverness  of  any 
other  kind,  nearly  enough  for  any  post  and  any  business. 
M.  de  Louvois  found  her  suited  to  his  taste,  and  she 
accommodated  herself  very  well  to  his  purse,  and  to  the 
display  she  made  by  this  intimacy.  She  always  became 
the  friend  of  every  new  mistress  of  the  King;  and  when 
he  favored  Madame  de  Soubise,  it  was  at  the  Mare"chale's 
house  that  she  waited,  with  closed  doors,  for  Bontems, 
the  King's  valet,  who  led  her  by  private  ways  to  his 
Majesty.  The  Mardchale  herself  has  related  to  me  how 
one  day  she  was  embarrassed  to  get  rid  of  the  people 
that  Madame  de  Soubise  (who  had  not  had  time  to  an- 
nounce her  arrival)  found  at  her  house;  and  how  she  al- 
most died  of  fright  lest  Bontems  should  return  and  the 
interview  be  broken  off  if  he  arrived  before  the  company 
had  departed.  The  Marechale  de  Rochefort  was  in  this 
way  the  friend  of  Mesdames  de  la  Valli6re,  de  Montes- 
pan  and  de  Soubise;  and  she  became  the  friend  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  to  whom  she  attached  herself  in 
proportion  as  she  saw  her  favor  increase.  She  had,  at 
the  marriage  of  Monseigneur,  been  made  Dame  d'Atours 
to  the  new  Dauphiness;  and,  if  people  were  astonished 

•As  Madame  de  Maintenon. 


38  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

at  that,  they  were  also  astonished  to  see  her  lady  of 
honor  to  an  ft  illegitimate  granddaughter  of  France." 

The  Comtesse  de  Mailly  was  Dame  d'Atours.  She 
was  related  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  to  whose  favor 
she  owed  her  marriage  with  the  Comte  de  Mailly.  She 
had  come  to  Paris  with  all  her  provincial  awkwardness, 
and,  from  want  of  wit,  had  never  been  able  to  get  rid 
of  it.  On  the  contrary,  she  grafted  thereon  an  immense 
conceit,  caused  by  the  favor  of  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
To  complete  the  household,  came  M.  de  Fontaine-Martel, 
poor  and  gouty,  who  was  the  first  master  of  the  horse. 

On  the  Monday  before  Shrove  Tuesday,  all  the  marriage 
party  and  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  superbly  dressed, 
repaired,  a  little  before  midday,  to  the  closet  of  the  King, 
and  afterward  to  the  chapel.  It  was  arranged,  as  usual, 
for  the  mass  of  the  King,  excepting  that  between  his  place 
and  the  altar  were  two  cushions  for  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom, who  turned  their  backs  to  the  King.  Cardinal  de 
Bouillon,  in  full  robes,  married  them,  and  said  mass. 
From  the  chapel  all  the  company  went  to  table :  it  was  of 
horseshoe  shape.  The  Princes  and  Princesses  of  the  blood 
were  placed  at  the  right  and  at  the  left,  according  to  their 
rank,  terminated  by  the  two  illegitimate  children  of  the 
King,  and,  for  the  first  time,  after  them,  the  Duchess  de 
Verneuil;  so  that  M.  de  Verneuil,  illegitimate  son  of 
Henry  IV.,  became  thus  <(  Prince  of  the  blood*  so  many 
years  after  his  death,  without  having  ever  suspected  it. 
Due  d'Uzes  thought  this  so  amusing  that  he  marched  in 
front  of  the  Duchess,  crying  out  as  loud  as  he  could— 
<(  Place,  place,  for  Madame  Charlotte  Se*guier !  » *  In  the 
afternoon  the  King  and  Queen  of  England  came  to  Ver- 
sailles, with  their  Court.  There  was  a  great  concert ;  and 
the  play-tables  were  set  out.  The  supper  was  similar 
to  the  dinner.  Afterward  the  married  couple  were  led  into 
the  apartment  of  the  new  Duchess  de  Chartres.  The 
Queen  of  England  gave  the  Duchess  her  chemise ;  and  the 
shirt  of  the  Due  was  given  to  him  by  the  King,  who  had 

*  The  Duchess  de  Verneuil  was  second  daughter  of  the  Chancelier 
Seguier.  I  have  left  this  bon  mot,  so  savorless  at  present,  as  an 
instance  how  much  wit  sometimes  depends  on  circumstances — espe- 
cially the  wit  of  nobles. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  39 

at  first  refused  on  the  plea  that  he  was  in  too  unhappy 
circumstances.  The  benediction  of  the  bed  was  pro- 
nounced by  the  Cardinal  de  Bouillon,  who  kept  us  all 
waiting  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour ;  which  made  people  say 
that  such  airs  little  became  a  man  returned  as  he  was 
from  a  long  exile,  to  which  he  had  been  sent  because  he 
had  had  the  madness  to  refuse  the  nuptial  benediction  to 
Madame  le  Duchess  unless  admitted  to  the  royal  banquet. 

On  Shrove  Tuesday,  there  was  a  grand  toilet  of  the 
Duchess  de  Chartres,  to  which  the  King  and  all  the  Court 
came;  and  in  the  evening  a  grand  ball,  similar  to  that 
which  had  just  taken  place,  except  that  the  new  Duchess 
de  Chartres  was  led  out  by  the  Due  de  Bourgogne. 
Every  one  wore  the  same  dress,  and  had  the  same  partner 
as  before. 

I  cannot  pass  over  in  silence  a  very  ridiculous  adven- 
ture which  occurred  at  both  of  these  balls.  A  son 
of  Montbron,  no  more  made  to  dance  at  Court  than  his 
father  was  to  be  chevalier  of  the  order  (to  which,  how- 
ever, he  was  promoted  in  1688),  was  among  the  company. 
He  had  been  asked  if  he  danced  well ;  and  he  had  replied 
with  a  confidence  which  made  every  one  hope  that  the 
contrary  was  the  case.  Every  one  was  satisfied.  From 
the  very  first  bow,  he  became  confused,  and  he  lost  step 
at  once.  He  tried  to  divert  attention  from  his  mistake 
by  affected  attitudes,  and  carrying  his  arms  high; 
but  this  made  him  only  more  ridiculous,  and  excited 
bursts  of  laughter,  which,  in  despite  of  the  respect  due 
to  the  person  of  the  King  (who  likewise  had  great  diffi- 
culty to  hinder  himself  from  laughing),  degenerated  at 
length  into  regular  hooting.  On  the  morrow,  instead 
of  flying  the  Court  or  holding  his  tongue,  he  ex- 
cused himself  by  saying  that  the  presence  of  the  King 
had  disconcerted  him,  and  promised  marvels  for  the  ball 
which  was  to  follow.  He  was  one  of  my  friends,  and  I 
felt  for  him.  I  should  even  have  warned  him  against 
a  second  attempt,  if  the  very  different  success  I  had  met 
with  had  not  made  me  fear  that  my  advice  would  be 
taken  in  ill  part.  As  soon  as  he  began  to  dance  at  the 
second  ball,  those  who  were  near  stood  up,  those  who 
were  far  off  climbed  wherever  they  could  to  get  a  sight ; 


40  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

and  the  shouts  of  laughter  were  mingled  with  clap- 
ping of  hands.  Every  one,  even  the  King  himself, 
laughed  heartily,  and  most  of  us  quite  loud,  so  that  I  do 
not  think  any  one  was  ever  treated  so  before.  Montbron 
disappeared  immediately  afterward,  and  did  not  show 
himself  again  for  a  long  time.  It  was  a  pity  he  exposed 
himself  to  this  defeat,  for  he  was  an  honorable  and  brave 
>man. 

Ash  Wednesday  put  an  end  to  all  these  sad  rejoicings 
by  command,  and  only  the  expected  rejoicings  were 
spoken  of.  M.  du  Maine,  wished  to  marry.  The  King 
tried  to  turn  him  from  it,  and  said  frankly  to  him,  that 
it  was  not  for  such  as  he  to  make  a  lineage.  But  pressed 
by  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  had  educated  M.  du  Maine, 
and  who  felt  for  him  as  a  nurse,  the  King  resolved  to 
marry  him  to  a  daughter  of  the  Prince  de  Conde.  The 
Prince  was  greatly  pleased  at  the  project.  He  had  three 
daughters  for  M.  du  Maine  to  choose  from :  all  three  were 
extremely  little.  An  inch  of  height,  that  the  second  had 
above  the  others,  procured  for  her  the  preference,  much 
to  the  grief  of  the  eldest,  who  was  beautiful  and  clever, 
and  who  dearly  wished  to  escape  from  the  slavery  in 
which  her  father  kept  her.  The  dignity  with  which  she 
bore  her  disappointment  was  admired  by  everyone,  but 
it  cost  her  an  effort  that  ruined  her  health.  The  mar- 
riage once  arranged,  was  celebrated  on  the  ipth  of  March, 
much  in  the  same  manner  as  had  been  that  of  the  Due 
de  Chartres.  Madame  de  Saint- Vallery  was  appointed 
lady  of  honor  to  Madame  du  Maine,  and  M.  de  Montchev- 
reuil  gentleman  of  the  ^chamber.  This  last  had  been 
one  of  the  friends  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  when  she 
was  Madame  Scarron.  Montchevreuil  was  a  very  honest 
man,  modest,  brave,  but  thick-headed.  His  wife  was  a 
tall  creature,  meagre,  and  yellow,  who  laughed  sillily, 
and  showed  long  and  ugly  teeth;  who  was  extremely 
devout,  of  a  compassed  mien,  and  who  only  wanted  a 
broomstick  to  be  a  perfect  witch.  Without  possessing 
any  wit,  she  had  so  captivated  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
that  the  latter  saw  only  with  her  eyes.  All  the  ladies  of 
the  Court  were  under  her  surveillance:  they  depended 
upon  her  for  their  distinctions,  and  often  for  their  fortunes. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  41 

Everybody,  from  the  ministers  to  the  daughters  of  the 
King,  trembled  before  her.  The  King  himself  showed 
her  the  most  marked  consideration.  She  was  of  all  the 
Court  journeys,  and  always  with  Madame  de  Maintenon. 

The  marriage  of  M.  du  Maine  caused  a  rupture  between 
the  Princess  de  Conde  and  the  Duchess  of  Hanover  her 
sister,  who  had  strongly  desired  M.  du  Maine  for  one  of 
her  daughters,  and  who  pretended  that  the  Prince  de 
Conde"  had  cut  the  grass  from  under  her  feet.  She  lived 
in  Paris,  making  a  display  quite  unsuited  to  her  rank, 
and  had  even  carried  it  so  far  as  to  go  about  with  two 
coaches  and  many  livery  servants.  With  this  state  one 
day  she  met  in  the  streets  the  coach  of  Madame  de  Bouil- 
lon, which  the  servants  of  the  German  woman  forced  to 
give  way  to  their  mistress's.  The  Bouillons,  piqued  to 
excess,  resolved  to  be  revenged.  One  day,  when  they 
knew  the  Duchess  was  going  to  the  play,  they  went  there 
attended  by  a  numerous  livery.  Their  servants  had 
orders  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  those  of  the  Duchess. 
They  executed  these  orders  completely;  the  servants  of 
the  Duchess  were  thoroughly  thrashed  —  the  harness  of 
her  horses  cut  —  her  coaches  maltreated.  The  Duchess 
made  a  great  fuss,  and  complained  to  the  King,  but  he 
would  not  mix  himself  in  the  matter.  She  was  so  out- 
raged, that  she  resolved  to  retire  into  Germany,  and  in 
a  very  few  months  did  so. 

My  year  of  service  in  the  musketeers  being  over,  the 
King,  after  a  time,  gave  me,  without  purchase,  a  com- 
pany of  cavalry  in  the  Royal  Roussillon,  in  garrison  at 
Mons,  and  just  then  very  incomplete.  I  thanked  the 
King,  who  replied  to  me  very  obligingly.  The  company 
was  entirely  made  up  in  a  fortnight.  This  was  toward 
the  middls  of  April. 

A  little  before,  that  is,  on  the  27th  of  March,  the  King 
made  seven  new  mare"chals  of  France.  They  were  the 
Comte  de  Choiseul,  the  Due  de  Villeroy,  the  Marquis  de 
Joyeuse,  Tourville,  the  Due  de  Noailles,  the  Marquis 
de  Boufflers,  and  Catinat.  These  promotions  caused  very 
great  discontent.  Complaint  was  more  especially  made 
that  the  Due  de  Choiseul  had  not  been  named.  The 
cause  of  his  exclusion  is  curious.  His  wife,  beautiful, 


42  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

with  the  form  of  a  goddess, — notorious  for  the  number 
of  her  gallantries  —  was  very  intimate  with  the  Princess 
de  Conti.  The  King,  not  liking  such  a  companion  for 
his  daughter,  gave  the  Due  de  Choiseul  to  understand 
that  the  public  disorders  of  the  Duchess  offended  him. 
If  the  Duke  would  send  her  into  a  convent,  the  mare"- 
chal's  baton  would  be  his.  The  Due  de  Choiseul,  indig- 
nant that  the  reward  of  his  services  in  the  war  was  at- 
tached to  a  domestic  affair  which  concerned  himself  alone, 
refused  promotion  on  such  terms.  He  thus  lost  the  baton ; 
and  what  was  worse  for  him,  the  Duchess  soon  after  was 
driven  from  Court,  and  so  misbehaved  herself,  that  at 
last  he  could  endure  her  no  longer,  drove  her  away  him- 
self, and  separated  from  her  forever. 

Mademoiselle  —  la  grande  Mademoiselle,  as  she  was 
called,  to  distinguish  her  from  the  daughter  of  Monsieur 
—  or  to  call  her  by  her  name,  Mademoiselle  de  Mont- 
pensier, —  died  on  Sunday  the  5th  of  April,  at  her  palace 
of  the  Luxembourg,  sixty-three  years  of  age,  and  the 
richest  private  princess  in  Europe.  She  interested  her- 
self much  in  those  who  were  related  to  her,  even  to  the 
lowest  degree,  and  wore  mourning  for  them,  however 
far  removed.  It  is  well  known,  from  all  the  memoirs 
of  the  time,  that  she  was  greatly  in  love  with  M.  de 
Lauzun,  and  that  she  suffered  much  when  the  King  with- 
held his  permission  to  their  marriage.  M.  de  Lauzun 
was  so  enraged,  that  he  could  not  contain  himself,  and 
at  last  went  so  far  beyond  bounds,  that  he  was  sent 
prisoner  to  Pignerol,  where  he  remained,  extremely  ill 
treated,  for  ten  years.  The  affection  of  Mademoiselle 
did  not  grow  cold  by  separation.  The  King  profited  by 
it,  to  make  M.  de  Lauzun  buy  his  library  at  her  expense, 
and  thus  enriched  M.  du  Maine.  He  always  gave  out 
that  he  had  married  Mademoiselle,  and  appeared  before 
the  King,  after  her  death,  in  a  long  cloak,  which  gave 
great  displeasure.  He  also  assumed  ever  afterward  a 
dark  brown  livery,  as  an  eternal  expression  of  his  grief 
for  Mademoiselle,  of  whom  he  had  portraits  everywhere. 
As  for  Mademoiselle,  the  King  never  quite  forgave  her 
the  day  of  Saint  Antoine;  and  I  heard  him  once  at  sup- 
per reproach  her  in  jest,  for  having  fired  the  cannons  of 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  43 

the  Bastille   upon  his  troops.      She    was    a   little   embar- 
rassed, but  she  got  out  of  the  difficulty  very  well. 

Her  body  was  laid  out  with  great  state,  watched  for 
several  days,  two  hours  at  a  time,  by  a  duchess  or  a 
princess,  and  by  two  ladies  of  quality.  The  Comtesse  de 
Soissons  refused  to  take  part  in  this  watching,  and  would 
not  obey  until  the  King  threatened  to  dismiss  her  from 
the  Court.  A  very  ridiculous  accident  happened  in  the 
midst  of  this  ceremony.  The  urn  containing  the  entrails 
fell  over,  with  a  frightful  noise  and  a  stink  sudden  and 
intolerable.  The  ladies,  the  heralds,  the  psalmodists, 
everybody  present  fled,  in  confusion.  Everyone  tried 
to  gain  the  door  first.  The  entrails  had  been  badly  em- 
balmed, and  it  was  their  fermentation  which  caused  the 
accident.  They  were  soon  perfumed  and  put  in  order, 
and  everybody  laughed  at  this  mishap.  These  entrails 
were  in  the  end  carried  to  the  Celestins,  the  heart  to 
Val  de  Grace,  and  the  body  to  the  Cathedral  of  Saint 
Denis,  followed  by  a  numerous  company. 


CHAPTER    III. 

Death  of  my  Father  —  Anecdotes  of  Louis  XIII. — The  Cardinal  de 
Richelieu  —  The  Due  de  Bellegarde — Madame  de  Hautefort  —  My 
Father's  Enemy  —  His  Services  and  Reward  —  A  Duel  against  Law 
—  An  Answer  to  a  Libel  —  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld  —  My  Father's 
Gratitude  to  Louis  XIII. 

ON  MAY  3,  1693,  the  King  announced  his  intention  of 
placing  himself  at  the  head  of  his  army  in  Fland- 
ers, and,  having  made  certain  alterations  in  the 
rule  of  precedence  of  the  marshals  of  France,  soon  after 
began  the  campaign.  I  have  here,  however,  to  draw  at- 
tention to  my  private  affairs,  for  on  the  above-mentioned 
day,  at  10  o'clock  in  the  morning,  I  had  the  misfortune 
to  lose  my  father.  He  was  eighty-seven  years  of  age, 
and  had  been  in  bad  health  for  some  time,  with  a  touch 
of  gout  during  the  last  three  weeks.  On  the  day  in 
question  he  had  dined  as  usual  with  his  friends,  had  re- 
tired to  bed,  and  while  talking  to  those  around  him  there, 
all  at  once  gave  three  violent  sighs.  He  was  dead  al- 
most before  it  was  perceived  that  he  was  ill;  there  was 
no  more  oil  in  the  lamp. 

I  learned  this  sad  news  after  seeing  the  King  to  bed; 
his  Majesty  was  to  purge  himself  on  the  morrow.  The 
night  was  given  to  the  just  sentiments  of  nature ;  but  the 
next  day  I  went  early  to  visit  Bontems,  and  then  the 
Due  de  Beauvilliers,  who  promised  to  ask  the  King,  as 
soon  as  his  curtains  were  opened,  to  grant  me  the  offices 
my  father  had  held.  The  King  very  graciously  complied 
with  his  request,  and  in  the  afternoon  said  many  obliging 
things  to  me,  particularly  expressing  his  regret  that  my 
father  had  not  been  able  to  receive  the  last  Sacraments.  I 
was  able  to  say  that  a  very  short  time  before,  my  father 
had  retired  for  several  days  to  Saint  Lazare,  where  was 
his  confessor,  and  added  something  on  the  piety  of  his 
life.  The  King  exhorted  me  to  behave  well,  and  promised 
to  take  care  of  me.  When  my  father  was  first  taken  ill, 

(44) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON        45 

several  persons,  among  others,  D'Aubigne",  brother  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  had  asked  for  the  governorship  of 
Blaye.  But  the  King  refused  them  all,  and  said  very 
bluntly  to  D'Aubigne",  (<  Is  there  not  a  son  ?  B  He  had, 
in  fact,  always  given  my  father  to  understand  I  should 
succeed  him,  although  generally  he  did  not  allow  offices 
to  descend  from  father  to  son. 

Let  me  say  a  few  words  about  my  father.  Our  fam- 
ily in  my  grandfather's  time  had  become  impoverished; 
and  my  father  was  early  sent  to  the  Court  as  page  to 
Louis  XIII.  It  was  very  customary  then  for  the  sons  of 
reduced  gentlemen  to  accept  this  occupation.  The  King 
was  passionately  fond  of  hunting,  an  amusement  that  was 
carried  on  with  far  less  state,  without  that  abundance  of 
dogs,  and  followers,  and  convenience  of  all  kinds  which 
his  successor  introduced,  and  especially  without  roads 
through  the  forests.  My  father,  who  noticed  the  impa- 
tience of  the  King  at  the  delays  that  occurred  in  changing 
horses,  thought  of  turning  the  head  of  the  horse  he 
brought  toward  the  crupper  of  that  which  the  King 
quitted.  By  this  means,  without  putting  his  feet  to  the 
ground,  his  Majesty,  who  was  active,  jumped  from  one 
horse  to  another.  He  was  so  pleased  that  whenever  he 
changed  horses,  he  asked  for  this  same  page.  From  that 
time  my  father  grew  day  by  day  in  favor.  The  King 
made  him  Chief  Ecuyer,  and  in  course  of  years  bestowed 
other  rewards  upon  him,  created  him  Due  and  peer  of 
France,  and  gave  him  the  Government  of  Blaye.  My 
father,  much  attached  to  the  King,  followed  him  in  all 
his  expeditions,  several  times  commanded  the  cavalry  of 
the  army,  was  commander-in-chief  of  all  the  arrierebans 
of  the  kingdom,  and  acquired  great  reputation  in  the 
field  for  his  valor  and  skill.  With  Cardinal  Richelieu  he 
was  intimate  without  sympathy,  and  more  than  once,  but 
notably  on  the  famous  Day  of  the  Dupes,  rendered  signal 
service  to  that  minister.  My  father  used  often  to  be 
startled  out  of  his  sleep  in  the  middle  of  the  night  by  a 
valet,  with  a  taper  in  his  hand,  drawing  the  curtain  — 
having  behind  him  the  Cardinal  de  Richelieu,  who  would 
often  take  the  taper  and  sit  down  upon  the  bed  and  ex- 
claim that  he  was  a  lost  man,  and  ask  my  father's 


46  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

advice  upon  the  news  he  had  received  or  on  quarrels  he 
had  had  with  the  King.  When  all  Paris  was  in  conster- 
nation at  the  success  of  the  Spaniards,  who  had  crossed 
the  frontier,  taken  Corbie,  and  seized  all  the  country  as 
far  as  Compiegne,  the  King  insisted  on  my  father  being 
present  at  the  council  which  was  then  held.  The  Cardi- 
nal de  Richelieu  maintained  that  the  King  should  retreat 
beyond  the  Seine,  and  all  the  assembly  seemed  of  that 
opinion.  But  the  King  in  a  speech  which  lasted  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  opposed  this,  and  said  that  to  retreat  at 
such  a  moment  would  be  to  increase  the  general  disorder. 
Then  turning  to  my  father  he  ordered  him  to  be  pre- 
pared to  depart  for  Corbie  on  the  morrow,  with  as  many 
of  his  men  as  he  could  get  ready.  The  histories  and  the 
memoirs  of  the  time  show  that  this  bold  step  saved  the 
state.  The  Cardinal,  great  man  as  he  was,  trembled, 
until  the  first  appearance  of  success,  when  he  grew  bold 
enough  to  join  the  King.  This  is  a  specimen  of  the 
conduct  of  that  weak  King  governed  by  that  first  minister 
to  whom  poets  and  historians  have  given  the  glory  they 
have  stripped  from  his  master;  as,  for  instance,  all  the 
works  of  the  siege  of  Rochelle,  and  the  invention  and 
unheard-of  success  of  the  celebrated  dyke,  all  solely  due 
to  the  late  King! 

Louis  XIII.  loved  my  father,  but  he  could  scold  him  at 
times.  On  two  occasions  he  did  so.  The  first,  as  my 
father  has  related  to  me,  was  on  account  of  the  Due  de 
Bellegarde.  The  Duke  was  in  disgrace,  and  had  been 
exiled.  My  father,  who  was  a  friend  of  his,  wished  to 
write  to  him  one  day,  and  for  want  of  other  leisure,  be- 
ing then  much  occupied,  took  the  opportunity  of  the 
King's  momentary  absence  to  carry  out  his  desire.  Just 
as  he  was  finishing  his  letter,  the  King  came  in;  my 
father  tried  to  hide  the  paper,  but  the  eyes  of  the  King 
were  too  quick  for  him.  <(  What  is  that  paper  ?*  said  he. 
My  father,  embarrassed,  admitted  that  it  was  a  few  words 
he  had  written  to  M.  de  Bellegarde. 

<(  Let  me  see  it,w  said  the  King;  and  he  took  the  paper 
and  read  it.  tt  I  don't  find  fault  with  you,"  said  he,  "for 
writing  to  your  friends,  although  in  disgrace,  for  I  know 
you  will  write  nothing  improper;  but  what  displeases  me 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  47 

is,  that  you  should  fail  in  the  respect  you  owe  to  a  duke 
and  peer,  in  that,  because  he  is  exiled,  you  should  omit 
to  address  him  as  Monseigneur;"  and  then  tearing  the 
letter  in  two,  he  added,  (<  Write  it  again  after  the  hunt, 
and  put  Monseigneur,  as  you  ought. M  My  father  was 
very  glad  to  be  let  off  so  easily. 

The  other  reprimand  was  upon  a  more  serious  subject. 
The  King  was  really  enamored  of  Mademoiselle  d'Haute- 
fort.  My  father,  young  and  gallant,  could  not  comprehend 
why  he  did  not  gratify  his  love.  He  believed  his  reserve 
to  arise  from  timidity,  and  under  this  impression  pro- 
posed one  day  to  the  King  to  be  his  ambassador  and  to 
bring  the  affair  to  a  satisfactory  conclusion.  The  King 
allowed  him  to  speak  to  the  end,  and  then  assumed  a 
severe  air.  <(  It  is  true,*  said  he,  tf  that  I  am  enamored 
of  her,  that  I  feel  it,  that  I  seek  her,  that  I  speak  of  her 
willingly  and  think  of  her  still  more  willingly;  it  it  true 
also  that  I  act  thus  in  spite  of  myself,  because  I  am  mor- 
tal and  have  this  weakness;  but  the  more  facility  I  have 
as  King  to  gratify  myself,  the  more  I  ought  to  be  on 
my  guard  against  sin  and  scandal.  I  pardon  you  this 
time,  but  never  address  to  me  a  similar  discourse  again 
if  you  wish  that  I  should  continue  to  love  you. w  This 
was  a  thunderbolt  for  my  father ;  the  scales  fell  from  his 
eyes;  the  idea  of  the  King's  timidity  in  love  disappeared 
before  the  display  of  a  virtue  so  pure  and  so  triumphant. 

My  father's  career  was  for  a  long  time  very  successful, 
but  unfortunately  he  had  an  enemy  who  brought  it  to 
an  end.  This  enemy  was  M.  de  Chavigny:  he  was  sec- 
retary of  state,  and  had  also  the  war  department.  Either 
from  stupidity  or  malice  he  had  left  all  the  towns  in 
Picardy  badly  supported;  a  circumstance  the  Spaniards 
knew  well  how  to  profit  by  when  they  took  Corbie  in 
1636.  My  father  had  an  uncle  who  commanded  in  one 
of  these  towns,  La  Capelle,  and  who  had  several  times 
asked  for  ammunition  and  stores  without  success.  My 
father  spoke  upon  this  subject  to  Chavigny,  to  the  Car- 
dinal de  Richelieu,  and  to  the  King,  but  with  no  good 
effect.  La  Capelle,  left  without  resources,  fell  like  the 
places  around.  As  I  have  said  before,  Louis  XIII.  did 
not  long  allow  the  Spaniards  to  enjoy  the  advantages 


48  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

they  had  gained.  All  the  towns  in  Picardy  were  soon 
retaken,  and  the  King,  urged  on  by  Chavigny,  determined 
to  punish  the  governors  of  these  places  for  surrendering 
them  so  easily.  My  father's  uncle  was  included  with  the 
others.  This  injustice  was  not  to  be  borne.  My  father 
represented  the  real  state  of  the  case  and  used  every 
effort  to  save  his  uncle,  but  it  was  in  vain.  Stung  to 
the  quick  he  demanded  permission  to  retire,  and  was 
allowed  to  do  so.  Accordingly,  at  the  commencement  of 
1637,  he  left  for  Blaye,  and  remained  there  until  the 
death  of  Cardinal  Richelieu.  During  this  retirement  the 
King  frequently  wrote  to  him,  in  a  language  they  had 
composed  so  as  to  speak  before  people  without  being 
understood ;  and  I  possess  still  many  of  these  letters,  with 
much  regret  that  I  am  ignorant  of  their  contents. 

Chavigny  served  my  father  another  ill  turn.  At  the 
Cardinal's  death  my  father  had  returned  to  the  Court 
and  was  in  greater  favor  than  ever.  Just  before  Louis 
XIII.  died,  he  gave  my  father  the  place  of  first  master 
of  the  horse,  but  left  his  name  blank  in  the  paper  fixing 
the  appointment.  The  paper  was  given  into  the  hands 
of  Chavigny.  At  the  King's  death  he  had  the  villainy, 
in  concert  with  the  Queen  Regent,  to  fill  in  the  name  of 
Comte  d'Harcourt,  instead  of  that  the  King  had  instructed 
him  of.  The  indignation  of  my  father  was  great,  but,  as 
he  could  obtain  no  redress,  he  retired  once  again  to  his 
Government  of  Blaye.  Notwithstanding  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  been  treated  by  the  Queen  Regent,  he 
stoutly  defended  her  cause  when  the  civil  war  broke  out, 
led  by  M.  le  Prince.  He  garrisoned  Blaye  at  his  own 
expense,  incurring  thereby  debts  which  hung  upon  him 
all  his  life,  and  which  I  feel  the  effects  of  still,  and  re- 
pulsed all  attempts  of  friends  to  corrupt  his  loyalty.  The 
Queen  and  Mazarin  could  not  close  their  eyes  to  his  de- 
votion, and  offered  him,  while  the  war  was  still  going 
on,  a  marshal's  baton,  or  the  title  of  foreign  prince. 
But  he  refused  both,  and  the  offer  was  not  renewed  when 
the  war  ended.  These  disturbances  over,  and  Louis  XIV. 
being  married,  my  father  came  again  to  Paris,  where  he 
had  many  friends.  He  had  married  in  1644,  and  had 
had,  as  I  have  said,  one  only  daughter.  His  wife  dying 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  49 

in  1670,  and  leaving  him  without  male  children,  he  de- 
termined, however  much  he  might  be  afflicted  at  the  loss 
he  had  sustained,  to  marry  again,  although  old.  He 
carried  out  his  resolution  in  October  of  the  same  year, 
and  was  very  pleased  with  the  choice  he  had  made. 
He  liked  his  new  wife  so  much,  in  fact,  that  when 
Madame  de  Montespan  obtained  for  her  a  place  at  the 
Court,  he  declined  it  at  once.  At  his  age  —  it  was  thus 
he  wrote  to  Madame  de  Montespan, — he  had  taken  a 
wife  not  for  the  Court,  but  for  himself.  My  mother, 
who  was  absent  when  the  letter  announcing  the  appoint- 
ment was  sent,  felt  much  regret,  but  never  showed  it. 

Before  I  finish  this  account  of  my  father,  I  will  here 
relate  adventures  which  happened  to  him,  and  which  I 
ought  to  have  placed  before  his  second  marriage.  A  dis- 
agreement arose  between  my  father  and  M.  de  Vardes, 
and  still  existed  long  after  everybody  thought  they  were 
reconciled.  It  was  ultimately  agreed  that  upon  an  early 
day,  at  about  twelve  o'clock,  they  should  meet  at  the  Porte 
St.  Honore",  then  a  very  deserted  spot,  and  that  the  coach 
of  M.  de  Vardes  should  run  against  my  father's,  and  a 
general  quarrel  arise  between  masters  and  servants.  Un- 
der cover  of  this  quarrel,  a  duel  could  easily  take  place, 
and  would  seem  simply  to  arise  out  of  the  broil  there  and 
then  occasioned.  On  the  morning  appointed,  my  father 
called  as  usual  upon  several  of  his  friends,  and,  taking 
one  of  them  for  second,  went  to  the  Porte  St.  Honore"; 
there  everything  fell  out  just  as  had  been  arranged.  The 
coach  of  M.  de  Vardes  struck  against  the  other.  My 
father  leaped  out,  M.  de  Vardes  did  the  same,  and  the 
duel  took  place.  M.  de  Vardes  fell,  and  was  disarmed. 
My  father  wished  to  make  him  beg  for  his  life ;  he  would 
not  do  this,  but  confessed  himself  vanquished.  My  father's 
coach  being  the  nearest,  M.  de  Vardes  got  into  it.  He 
fainted  on  the  road.  They  separated  afterward,  like  brave 
people,  and  went  their  way.  Madame  de  Chatillon,  since 
of  Mecklenburg,  lodged  in  one  of  the  last  houses  near  the 
Porte  St.  Honore,  and  at  the  noise  made  by  the  coaches, 
put  her  head  to  the  window,  and  coolly  looked  at  the 
whole  of  the  combat.  It  soon  made  a  great  noise.  My 
father  was  complimented  everywhere.  M.  de  Vardes  was 
4 


50         MEMOIRS   OF  THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

sent  for  ten  or  twelve  days  to  the  Bastille.  My  father 
and  he  afterward  became  completely  reconciled  to  each 
other. 

The  other  adventure  was  of  gentler  ending.  The 
tt  Memoirs  *  of  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld  appeared.  They 
contained  certain  atrocious  and  false  statements  against 
my  father,  who  so  severely  resented  the  calumny,  that  he 
seized  a  pen,  and  wrote  upon  the  margin  of  the  book, 
*  The  author  has  told  a  lie.  *  Not  content  with  this,  he 
went  to  the  bookseller,  whom  he  discovered  with  some 
difficulty,  for  the  book  was  not  sold  publicly  at  first.  He 
asked  to  see  all  the  copies  of  the  work — prayed,  promised, 
threatened,  and  at  last  succeeded  in  obtaining  them.  Then 
he  took  a  pen  and  wrote  in  all  of  them  the  same  mar- 
ginal note.  The  astonishment  of  the  bookseller  may  be 
imagined.  He  was  not  long  in  letting  M.  de  la  Roche- 
foucauld know  what  had  happened  to  his  books:  it  may 
well  be  believed  that  he  also  was  astonished.  This  affair 
made  great  noise.  My  father,  having  truth  on  his  side, 
wished  to  obtain  public  satisfaction  from  M.  de  la  Roche- 
foucauld. Friends,  however,  interposed,  and  the  matter 
was  allowed  to  drop.  But  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld  never 
pardoned  my  father ;  so  true  it  is  that  we  less  easily  forget 
the  injuries  we  inflict  than  those  that  we  receive. 

My  father  passed  the  rest  of  his  long  life  surrounded 
by  friends,  and  held  in  high  esteem  by  the  King  and 
his  ministers.  His  advice  was  often  sought  for  by  them, 
and  was  always  acted  upon.  He  never  consoled  himself 
for  the  loss  of  Louis  XIII.,  to  whom  he  owed  his  ad- 
vancement and  his  fortune.  Every  year  he  kept  sacred 
the  day  of  his  death,  going  to  St.  Denis,  or  holding 
solemnities  in  his  own  house  if  at  Blaye.  Veneration, 
gratitude,  tenderness,  ever  adorned  his  lips  every  time  he 
spoke  of  that  monarch. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

Position  of  the  Prince  of  Orange  —  Strange  Conduct  of  the  King  —  Sur- 
prise and  Indignation  —  Battle  of  Neerwinden  —  My  Return  to  Paris 
—  Death  of  La  Vauguyon  —  Symptoms  of  Madness — Vauguyon  at 
the  Bastille  — Projects  of  Marriage  —  M.  de  Beauvilliers  —  A  Negotia- 
tion for  a  Wife  —  My  Failure  —  Visit  to  La  Trappe. 

AFTER  having  paid  the  last  duties  to  my  father  I  betook 
myself  to  Mons  to  join  the  Royal  Roussillon  cavalry 
regiment,  in  which  I  was  captain.  The  King, 
after  stopping  eight  or  ten  days  with  the  ladies  at 
Quesnoy,  sent  them  to  Namur,  and  put  himself  at  the 
head  of  the  army  of  M.  de  Boufflers,  and  camped  at 
Gembloux,  so  that  his  left  was  only  half  a  league  distant 
from  the  right  of  M.  de  Luxembourg.  The  Prince  of 
Orange  was  encamped  at  the  Abbey  of  Pure,  was  unable 
to  receive  supplies  and  could  not  leave  his  position 
without  having  the  two  armies  of  the  King  to  grapple 
with:  he  entrenched  himself  in  haste,  and  bitterly  re- 
pented having  allowed  himself  to  be  thus  driven  into  a 
corner.  We  knew  afterward  that  he  wrote  several  times 
to  his  intimate  friend  the  Prince  de  Vaudemont, —  saying 
that  he  was  lost,  and  that  nothing  short  of  a  miracle 
could  save  him. 

We  were  in  this  position,  with  an  army  in  every  way 
infinitely  superior  to  that  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  and 
with  four  whole  months  before  us  to  profit  by  our 
strength,  when  the  King  declared  on  the  8th  of  June 
that  he  should  return  to  Versailles,  and  sent  oft  a  large 
detachment  of  the  army  into  Germany.  The  surprise  of 
the  Mare"chal  de  Luxembourg  was  without  bounds.  He 
represented  the  facility  with  which  the  Prince  of  Orange 
might  now  be  beaten  with  one  army  and  pursued  by 
another;  and  how  important  it  was  to  draw  off  detach- 
ments of  the  imperial  forces  from  Germany  into  Flanders, 
and  how,  by  sending  an  army  into  Flanders  instead  of 
Germany,  the  whole  of  the  Low  Countries  would  be  in 


52  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

our  power.  But  the  King  would  not  change  his  plans, 
although  M.  de  Luxembourg  went  down  on  his  knees 
and  begged  him  not  to  allow  such  a  glorious  opportunity 
to  escape.  Madame  de  Maintenon,  by  her  tears  when 
she  parted  from  his  Majesty,  and  by  her  letters  since, 
had  brought  about  this  resolution. 

The  news  had  not  spread  on  the  morrow,  June  pth. 
I  chanced  to  go  alone  to  the  quarters  of  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg, and  was  surprised  to  find  not  a  soul  there;  every 
one  had  gone  to  the  King's  army.  Pensively  bringing 
my  horse  to  a  stand,  I  was  ruminating  on  a  fact  so 
strange,  and  debating  whether  I  should  return  to  my 
tent  or  push  on  to  the  royal  camp,  when  up  came  M.  le 
Prince  de  Conti  with  a  single  page  and  a  groom  leading 
a  horse.  "What  are  you  doing  there  ? "  cried  he,  laugh- 
ing at  my  surprise.  Thereupon  he  told  me  he  was 
going  to  say  adieu  to  the  King,  and  advised  me  to  do 
likewise.  "What  do  you  mean  by  saying  adieu?" 
answered  I.  He  sent  his  servants  to  a  little  distance, 
and  begged  me  to  do  the  same,  and  with  shouts  of 
laughter  told  me  about  the  King's  retreat,  making  tre- 
mendous fun  of  him,  despite  my  youth,  for  he  had  con- 
fidence in  me.  I  was  astonished.  We  soon  after  met  the 
whole  company  coming  back;  and  the  great  people  went 
aside  to  talk  and  sneer.  I  then  proceeded  to  pay  my 
respects  to  the  King,  by  whom  I  was  honorably  received. 
Surprise,  however,  was  expressed  by  all  faces,  and  indig- 
nation by  some. 

The  effect  of  the  King's  retreat,  indeed,  was  incredi- 
ble, even  among  the  soldiers  and  the  people.  The 
general  officers  could  not  keep  silent  upon  it,  and  the 
inferior  officers  spoke  loudly,  with  a  license  that  could 
not  be  restrained.  All  through  the  army,  in  the  towns, 
and  even  at  Court,  it  was  talked  about  openly.  The 
courtiers,  generally  so  glad  to  find  themselves  again  at 
Versailles,  now  declared  that  they  were  ashamed  to  be 
there;  as  for  the  enemy,  they  could  not  contain  their 
surprise  and  joy.  The  Prince  of  Orange  said  that  the 
retreat  was  a  miracle  he  could  not  have  hoped  for;  that 
he  could  scarcely  believe  in  it,  but  that  it  had  saved  his 
army,  and  the  whole  of  the  Low  Countries.  In  the  midst 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  53 

of  all  this  excitement  the  King  arrived  with   the   ladies, 
on  the  25th  of  June,  at  Versailles. 

We  gained  some  successes,  however,  this  year.  Mare- 
chal  de  Villeroy  took  Huy  in  three  days,  losing  only  a 
sub-engineer  and  some  soldiers.  On  the  zgih  of  July  we 
attacked  at  dawn  the  Prince  of  Orange  at  Neerwinden, 
and  after  twelve  hours  of  hard  fighting,  under  a  blazing 
sun,  entirely  routed  him.  I  was  of  the  third  squadron 
of  the  Royal  Roussillon,  and  made  five  charges.  One  of 
the  gold  ornaments  of  my  coat  was  torn  away,  but  I  re- 
ceived no  wound.  During  the  battle  our  brigadier, 
Quoadt,  was  killed  before  my  eyes.  The  Due  de  Feuillade 
became  thus  commander  of  the  brigade.  We  missed  him 
immediately,  and  for  more  than  half  an  hour  saw  nothing 
of  him;  he  had  gone  to  make  his  toilet.  When  he  re- 
turned he  was  powdered  and  decked  out  in  a  fine  red 
surtout,  embroidered  with  silver,  and  all  his  trappings 
and  those  of.  his  horse  were  magnificent;  he  acquitted 
himself  with  distinction. 

Our  cavalry  stood  so  well  against  the  fire  from  the 
enemy's  guns,  that  the  Prince  of  Orange  lost  all  patience, 
and  turning  away  exclaimed  — <(  Oh,  the  insolent  nation !  w 
He  fought  until  the  last,  and  retired  with  the  Elector  of 
Hanover  only  when  he  saw  there  was  no  longer  any 
hope.  After  the  battle  my  people  brought  us  a  leg  of 
mutton  and  a  bottle  of  wine,  which  they  had  wisely 
saved  from  the  previous  evening,  and  we  attacked  them 
in  good  earnest,  as  may  be  believed.  The  enemy  lost 
about  twenty  thousand  men,  including  a  large  number 
of  officers ;  our  loss  was  not  more  than  half  that  number. 
We  took  all  their  cannon,  eight  mortars,  many  artillery 
wagons,  a  quantity  of  standards,  and  some  pairs  of  kettle- 
drums. The  victory  was  complete. 

Meanwhile,  the  army  which  had  been  sent  to  Germany 
tinder  the  command  of  Monseigneur  and  of  the  Mare"chal 
de  Lorges,  did  little  or  nothing.  The  Mare"chal  wished 
to  attack  Heilbronn,  but  Monseigneur  was  opposed  to  it ; 
and,  to  the  great  regret  of  the  principal  generals  and 
of  the  troops,  the  attack  was  not  made.  Monseigneur 
returned  early  to  Versailles. 

At  sea  we  were  more  active.     The  rich  merchant  fleet 


54  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

of  Smyrna  was  attacked  by  Tourville;  fifty  vessels  were 
burned  or  sunk,  and  twenty-seven  taken,  all  richly  freighted. 
This  campaign  cost  the  English  and  Dutch  dear.  It  is 
believed  their  loss  was  more  than  thirty  millions  of  e"cus. 

The  season  finished  with  the  taking  of  Charleroy.  On 
the  1 6th  of  September  the  Mare*chal  de  Villeroy,  sup- 
ported by  M.  de  Luxembourg,  laid  siege  to  it,  and  on 
the  nth  of  October,  after  a  good  defense,  the  place 
capitulated.  Our  loss  was  very  slight.  Charleroy  taken, 
our  troops  went  into  winter  quarters,  and  I  returned 
to  Court,  like  the  rest.  The  roads  and  the  posting 
service  were  in  great  disorder.  Among  other  ad- 
ventures I  met  with,  I  was  driven  by  a  deaf  and 
dumb  postillion,  who  stuck  me  fast  in  the  mud  when 
near  Quesnoy.  At  Pont  Saint-Maxence  all  the  horses 
were  retained  by  M.  de  Luxembourg.  Fearing  I  might 
be  left  behind,  I  told  the  postmaster  that  I  was  a  gov- 
ernor (which  was  true)  and  that  I  would  put  him  in 
jail  if  he  did  not  give  me  horses.  I  should  have  been 
sadly  puzzled  how  to  do  it;  but  he  was  simple  enough 
to  believe  me,  and  gave  the  horses.  I  arrived,  however, 
at  last  at  Paris,  and  found  a  change  at  the  Court  which 
surprised  me. 

Daquin  —  first  doctor  of  the  King  and  creature  of 
Madame  de  Montespan — had  lost  nothing  of  his  credit 
by  her  removal,  but  had  never  been  able  to  get  on  well 
with  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  looked  coldly  upon  all 
the  friends  of  her  predecessor.  Daquin  had  a  son,  an 
abbt,  and  wearied  the  King  with  solicitations  on  his  be- 
half. Madame  de  Maintenon  seized  the  opportunity, 
when  the  King  was  more  than  usually  angry  with  Da- 
quin, to  obtain  his  dismissal;  it  came  upon  him  like  a 
thunderbolt.  On  the  previous  evening  the  King  had 
spoken  to  him  for  a  long  time  as  usual,  and  had  never 
treated  him  better.  All  the  Court  was  astonished  also. 
Fagon,  a  very  skillful  and  learned  man,  was  appointed 
in  his  place  at  the  instance  of  Madame  de  Maintenon. 

Another  event  excited  less  surprise  than  interest.  On 
Sunday,  the  2pth  of  November,  the  King  learned  that 
La  Vauguyon  had  killed  himself  in  his  bed  that  morn- 
ing, by  firing  twice  into  his  throat.  I  must  say  a  few 


DUKE  OF  SAINT-SIMON  55 

words  about  this  Vauguyon.  He  was  one  of  the  pettiest 
and  poorest  gentlemen  of  France;  he  was  well  made, 
but  very  swarthy,  with  Spanish  features,  had  a  charm- 
ing voice,  played  the  guitar  and  lute  very  well,  and  was 
skilled  in  the  arts  of  gallantry.  By  these  talents  he  had 
succeeded  in  finding  favor  with  Madame  de  Beauvais, 
much  regarded  at  the  Court  as  having  been  the  King's 
first  mistress.  I  have  seen  her  —  old,  blear-eyed,  and 
half  blind,  —  at  the  toilet  of  the  Dauphiness  of  Bavaria, 
where  everybody  courted  her,  because  she  was  still  much 
considered  by  the  King.  Under  this  protection  La 
Vauguyon  succeeded  well;  was  several  times  sent  as 
ambassador  to  foreign  countries;  was  made  councilor  of 
state,  and  to  the  scandal  of  everybody,  was  raised  to 
the  order  in  1688.  Of  late  years,  having  no  appoint- 
ments, he  had  scarcely  the  means  of  living,  and  en- 
deavored, but  without  success,  to  improve  his  condition. 

Poverty  by  degrees  turned  his  brain;  but  a  long  time 
passed  before  it  was  perceived.  The  first  proof  that  he 
gave  of  it  was  at  the  house  of  Madame  Pelot,  widow  of 
the  Chief  President  of  the  Rouen  Parliament.  Playing 
at  brelan  one  evening,  she  offered  him  a  stake,  and 
because  he  would  not  accept  it  bantered  him,  and  play- 
fully called  him  a  poltroon.  He  said  nothing,  but  waited 
until  all  the  rest  of  the  company  had  left  the  room ;  and 
when  he  found  himself  alone  with  Madame  Pelot,  he 
bolted  the  door,  clapped  his  hat  on  his  head,  drove  her 
up  against  the  chimney,  and  holding  her  head  between 
his  two  fists,  said  he  knew  no  reason  why  he  should  not 
pound  it  into  a  jelly,  in  order  to  teach  her  to  call  him 
poltroon  again.  The  poor  woman  was  horribly  fright- 
ened, and  made  perpendicular  courtesies  between  his  two 
fists,  and  all  sorts  of  excuses.  At  last  he  let  her  go, 
more  dead  than  alive.  She  had  the  generosity  to  say  no 
syllable  of  this  occurrence  until  after  his  death ;  she  even 
allowed  him  to  come  to  the  house  as  usual,  but  took 
care  never  to  be  alone  with  him. 

One  day,  a  long  time  after  this,  meeting,  in  a  gallery 
at  Fontainebleau  M.  de  Courtenay,  La  Vauguyon  drew 
his  sword  and  compelled  the  other  to  draw  also,  although 
there  had  never  been  the  slightest  quarrel  between  them. 


56  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

They  were  soon  separated  and  La  Vauguyon  immediately 
fled  to  the  King,  who  was  just  then  in  his  private  closet, 
where  nobody  ever  entered  unless  expressly  summoned. 
But  La  Vauguyon  turned  the  key,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
usher  on  guard,  forced  his  way  in.  The  King  in  great 
emotion  asked  him  what  was  the  matter.  La  Vauguyon 
on  his  knees  said  he  had  been  insulted  by  M.  de  Court- 
enay  and  demanded  pardon  for  having  drawn  his  sword 
in  the  palace.  His  Majesty,  promising  to  examine  the 
matter,  with  great  trouble  got  rid  of  La  Vauguyon.  As 
nothing  could  be  made  of  it,  M.  de  Courtenay  declaring 
he  had  been  insulted  by  La  Vauguyon  and  forced  to 
draw  his  sword,  and  the  other  telling  the  same  tale,  both 
were  sent  to  the  Bastille.  After  a  short  imprisonment 
they  were  released,  and  appeared  at  the  Court  as  usual. 
Another  adventure,  which  succeeded  this,  threw  some 
light  upon  the  state  of  affairs.  Going  to  Versailles,  one 
day,  La  Vauguyon  met  a  groom  of  the  Prince  de  Conde" 
leading  a  saddle  horse:  he  stopped  the  man,  descended 
from  his  coach,  asked  whom  the  horse  belonged  to,  said 
that  the  Prince  would  not  object  to  his  riding  it,  and 
leaping  upon  the  animal's  back,  galloped  off.  The 
groom,  all  amazed,  followed  him.  La  Vauguyon  rode  on 
until  he  reached  the  Bastile,  descended  there,  gave  a 
gratuity  to  the  man,  and  dismissed  him:  he  then  went 
straight  to  the  governor  of  the  prison,  said  he  had  had 
the  misfortune  to  displease  the  King,  and  begged  to  be 
confined  there.  The  governor,  having  no  orders  to  do 
so,  refused,  and  sent  off  an  express  for  instructions  how 
to  act.  In  reply  he  was  told  not  to  receive  La  Vauguyon, 
whom  at  last,  after  great  difficulty,  he  prevailed  upon 
to  go  away.  This  occurrence  made  great  noise.  Yet 
even  afterward  the  King  continued  to  receive  La  Vau- 
guyon at  the  Court,  and  to  affect  to  treat  him  well,  al- 
though everybody  else  avoided  him  and  was  afraid  of 
him.  His  poor  wife  became  so  affected  by  these  public 
derangements,  that  she  retired  from  Paris,  and  shortly 
afterward  died.  This  completed  her  husband's  madness; 
he  survived  her  only  a  month,  dying  by  his  own  hand, 
as  I  have  mentioned.  During  the  last  two  years  of  his 
life  he  carried  pistols  in  his  carriage,  and  frequently 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  57 

pointed  them  at  his  coachman  and  postillion.  It  is  cer- 
tain that  without  the  assistance  of  M.  de  Beauvais  he 
would  often  have  been  brought  to  the  last  extremities. 
Beauvais  frequently  spoke  of  him  to  the  King;  and  it  is 
inconceivable  that  having  raised  this  man  to  such  a  point, 
and  having  always  shown  him  particular  kindness,  His 
Majesty  should  perseveringly  have  left  him  to  die  of 
hunger  and  become  mad  from  misery. 

The  year  finished  without  any  remarkable    occurrence. 

My  mother,  who  had  been  much  disquieted  for  me 
during  the  campaign,  desired  strongly  that  I  should  not 
make  another  without  being  married.  Although  very 
young,  I  had  no  repugnance  to  marry,  but  wished  to  do 
so  according  to  my  own  inclinations.  With  a  large  es- 
tablishment I  felt  very  lonely  in  a  country  where  credit 
and  consideration  do  more  than  all  the  rest.  Without 
uncle,  aunt,  cousins-german,  or  near  relatives,  I  found 
myself,  I  say,  extremely  solitary. 

Among  my  best  friends,  as  he  had  been  the  friend  of 
my  father,  was  the  Due  de  Beauvilliers.  He  had  always 
shown  me  much  affection  and  I  felt  a  great  desire  to 
unite  myself  to  his  family.  My  mother  approved  of  my 
inclination,  and  gave  me  an  exact  account  of  my  estates 
and  possessions.  I  carried  it  to  Versailles,  and  sought  a 
private  interview  with  M.  de  Beauvilliers.  At  eight  o'clock 
the  same  evening  he  received  me  alone  in  the  cabinet  of 
Madame  de  Beauvilliers.  After  making  my  compli- 
ments to  him,  I  told  him  my  wish,  showed  him  the  state 
of  my  affairs,  and  said  that  all  I  demanded  of  him  was 
one  of  his  daughters  in  marriage,  and  that  whatever  con- 
tract he  thought  fit  to  draw  up  would  be  signed  by  my 
mother  and  myself  without  examination. 

The  Due,  who  had  fixed  his  eyes  upon  me  all  this 
time,  replied  like  a  man  penetrated  with  gratitude  by 
the  offer  I  had  made.  He  said  that  of  his  eight  daugh- 
ters the  eldest  was  between  fourteen  and  fifteen  years 
old;  the  second  much  deformed,  and  in  no  way  mar- 
riageable, the  third  between  twelve  and  thirteen  years 
of  age,  and  the  rest  were  children;  the  eldest  wished  to 
enter  a  convent,  and  had  shown  herself  firm  upon  that 
point.  He  seemed  inclined  to  make  a  difficulty  of  his 


58  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

want  of  fortune;  but,  reminding  him  of  the  proposition 
I  had  made,  I  said  that  it  was  not  for  fortune  I  had 
come  to  him,  not  even  for  his  daughter,  whom  I 
had  never  seen;  that  it  was  he  and  Madame  de  Beau- 
villiers  who  had  charmed  me,  and  whom  I  wished  to  marry. 

(<  But, >}  said  he,  w  if  my  eldest  daughter  wishes  abso- 
lutely to  enter  a  convent  ?  " 

« Then,  »  replied  I,  « I  ask  the  third  of  you. »  To  this 
he  objected,  on  the  ground  that  if  he  gave  the  dowry  of 
the  first  to  the  third  daughter,  and  the  first  afterward 
changed  her  mind  and  wished  to  marry,  he  should  be 
thrown  into  an  embarrassment.  I  replied  that  I  would 
take  the  third  as  though  the  first  were  to  be  married, 
and  that  if  she  were  not,  the  difference  between  what 
he  destined  for  her  and  what  he  destined  for  the  third 
should  be  given  to  me.  The  Due,  raising  his  eyes  to 
heaven,  protested  that  he  had  never  been  combated  in 
this  manner,  and  that  he  was  obliged  to  gather  up  all 
his  forces  in  order  to  prevent  himself  yielding  to  me 
that  very  instant. 

On  the  next  day,  at  half  past  three,  I  had  another  in- 
terview with  M.  de  Beauvilliers.  With  much  tenderness 
he  declined  my  proposal,  resting  his  refusal  upon  the  in- 
clination his  daughter  had  displayed  for  the  convent, — 
upon  his  little  wealth,  if,  the  marriage  of  the  third  being 
made,  she  should  change  her  mind  —  and  upon  other 
reasons.  He  spoke  to  me  with  much  regret  and  friend- 
ship, and  I  to  him  in  the  same  manner;  and  we  sepa- 
rated, unable  any  longer  to  speak  to  each  other.  Two 
days  after,  however,  I  had  another  interview  with  him 
by  his  appointment.  I  endeavored  to  overcome  the  ob- 
jections that  he  made,  but  all  in  vain.  He  could  not 
give  me  his  third  daughter  with  the  first  unmarried,  and 
he  would  not  force  her  he  said,  to  change  her  wish  of 
retiring  from  the  world.  His  words,  pious  and  elevated, 
augmented  my  respect  for  him,  and  my  desire  for  the 
marriage.  In  the  evening,  at  the  breaking  up  of  the  ap- 
pointment, I  could  not  prevent  myself  whispering  in  his 
ear  that  I  should  never  live  happy  with  anybody  but  his 
daughter,  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply  hastened  away. 
I  had  the  next  evening,  at  eight  o'clock,  an  interview 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  59 

with  Madame  de  Beauvilliers.  I  argued  with  her  with 
such  prodigious  ardor  that  she  was  surprised,  and  al- 
though she  did  not  give  way,  she  said  she  should  be  in- 
consolable for  the  loss  of  me,  repeating  the  same  tender 
and  flattering  things  her  husband  had  said  before,  and 
with  the  same  effusion  of  feeling. 

I  had  yet  another  interview  with  M.  de  Beauvilliers. 
He  showed  even  more  affection  for  me  than  before,  but 
I  could  not  succeed  in  putting  aside  his  scruples.  He 
unbosomed  himself  afterward  to  one  of  our  friends,  and 
in  his  bitterness  said  he  could  only  console  himself  by 
hoping  that  his  children  and  mine  might  some  day  inter- 
marry, and  he  prayed  me  to  go  and  pass  some  days  at 
Paris,  in  order  to  allow  him  to  seek  a  truce  to  his  grief 
in  my  absence.  We  both  were  in  want  of  it.  I  have 
judged  it  fitting  to  give  these  details,  for  they  afford  a 
key  to  my  exceeding  intimacy  with  M.  de  Beauvilliers, 
which  otherwise,  considering  the  difference  in  our  ages, 
might  appear  incomprehensible. 

There  was  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  look  out  for 
another  marriage.  One  soon  presented  itself,  but  as  soon 
fell  to  the  ground;  and  I  went  to  La  Trappe  to  console 
myself  for  the  impossibility  of  making  an  alliance  with  the 
Due  de  Beauvilliers. 

La  Trappe  is  a  place  so  celebrated  and  so  well  known,  and 
its  reformer  so  famous,  that  I  shall  say  but  little  about  it. 
I  will,  however,  mention  that  this  abbey  is  five  leagues 
from  La  Ferte"-au-Vidame,  or  Arnault,  which  is  the  real 
distinctive  name  of  this  Ferte"  among  so  many  other 
Ferte"s  in  France,  which  have  preserved  the  generic  name 
of  what  they  have  been,  that  is  to  say,  forts  or  fortresses 
(firmitas).  My  father  had  been  very  intimate  with  M.  de 
La  Trappe,  and  had  taken  me  to  him. 

Although  I  was  very  young  then,  M.  de  La  Trappe 
charmed  me,  and  the  sanctity  of  the  place  enchanted  me. 
Every  year  I  stayed  some  days  there,  sometimes  a  week 
at  a  time,  and  was  never  tired  of  admiring  this  great  and 
distinguished  man.  He  loved  me  as  a  son,  and  I  respected 
him  as  though  he  were  my  father.  This  intimacy,  singular 
at  my  age,  I  kept  secret  from  everybody,  and  only  went  to 
the  convent  clandestinely. 


CHAPTER  V. 

M.  de  Luxembourg's  Claim  of  Precedence  —  Origin  of  the  Claim  —  Due 
de  Piney  —  Character  of  Harlay  —  Progress  of  the  Trial  —  Luxem- 
bourg and  Richelieu  —  Double  Dealing  of  Harlay  —  The  Due  de 
Gesvres  —  Return  to  the  Seat  of  War  —  Divers  Operations  —  Origin 
of  These  « Memoirs.® 

ON  MY  return  from  La  Trappe,  I  became  engaged  in 
an  affair  which  made  a  great  noise,  and  which  had 
many  results  for  me. 

M.  de  Luxembourg,  proud  of  his  successes,  and  of  the 
applause  of  the  world  at  his  victories,  believed  himself 
sufficiently  strong  to  claim  precedence  over  seventeen 
dukes,  myself  among  the  number;  to  step,  in  fact,  from 
the  eighteenth  rank,  that  he  held  among  the  peers,  to  the 
second.  The  following  are  the  names  and  the  order  in 
precedence  of  the  dukes  he  wished  to  supersede : — 

The  Due  d'Elboeuf;  the  Due  de  Montbazon;  the  Ducde 
Ventadour;  the  Due  de  Vendome;  the  Due  de  la  Tre*- 
moille ;  the  Due  de  Sully ;  the  Due  de  Chevreuse,  the  son 
(minor)  of  the  Duchess  de  Lesdiguieres-Gondi;  the  Due 
de  Brissac;  Charles  d'Albert,  called  d'Ailly;  the  Due  de 
Richelieu ;  the  Due  de  Saint-Simon ;  the  Due  de  la  Roche- 
foucauld; the  Due  de  la  Force;  the  Due  de  Valentinois; 
the  Due  de  Rohan;  the  Due  de  Bouillon. 

To  explain  this  pretension  of  M.  de  Luxembourg,  I 
must  give  some  details  respecting  him  and  the  family 
whose  name  he  bore.  He  was  the  only  son  of  M.  de 
Bouteville,  and  had  married  a  descendant  of  Frangois  de 
Luxembourg,  Duke  of  Piney,  created  Peer  of  France  in 
1581.  It  was  a  peerage  which,  in  default  of  male  succes- 
sors, went  to  the  female,  but  this  descendant  was  not 
heir  to  it.  She  was  the  child  of  a  second  marriage,  and 
by  a  first  marriage  her  mother  had  given  birth  to  a 
son  and  a  daughter,  who  were  the  inheritors  of  the  peer- 
age, both  of  whom  were  still  living.  The  son  was,  how- 
(60) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON         61 

ever,  an  idiot,  had  been  declared  incapable  of  attending 
to  his  affairs,  and  was  shut  up  in  Saint  Lazare,  at  Paris. 
The  daughter  had  taken  the  veil,  and  was  mistress  of  the 
novices  at  the  Abbayeaux-Bois.  The  peerage  had  thus, 
it  might  almost  be  said,  become  extinct,  for  it  was  vested  in 
an  idiot,  who  could  not  marry  (to  prevent  him  doing  so,  he 
had  been  made  a  deacon,  and  he  was  bound  in  conse- 
quence to  remain  single),  and  in  a  nun,  who  was  equally 
bound  by  her  vows  to  the  same  state  of  celibacy. 

When  M.  de  Bouteville,  for  that  was  his  only  title  then, 
married,  he  took  the  arms  and  the  name  of  Luxem- 
bourg. He  did  more.  By  powerful  influence, —  notably 
that  of  his  patron  the  Prince  de  Conde, —  he  released  the 
idiot  deacon  from  his  asylum,  and  the  nun  from  her  con- 
vent, and  induced  them  both  to  surrender  to  him  their 
possessions  and  their  titles.  This  done,  he  commenced 
proceedings  at  once  in  order  to  obtain  legal  recognition 
of  his  right  to  the  dignities  he  had  thus  got  possession 
of.  He  claimed  to  be  acknowledged  Due  de  Piney,  with 
all  the  privileges  attached  to  that  title  as  a  creation  of 
1581.  Foremost  among  these  privileges  was  that  of  tak- 
ing precedence  of  all  dukes  whose  title  did  not  go  back 
so  far  as  that  year.  Before  any  decision  was  given  either 
for  or  against  this  claim,  he  was  made  Due  de  Piney  by 
new  letters  patent,  dating  from  1662,  with  a  clause  which 
left  his  pretensions  to  the  title  of  1581  by  no  means  af- 
fected by  this  new  creation.  M.  de  Luxembourg,  how- 
ever, seemed  satisfied  with  what  he  had  obtained,  and 
was  apparently  disposed  to  pursue  his  claim  no  further. 
He  was  received  as  duke  and  peer  in  the  Parliament,  took 
his  seat  in  the  last  rank  after  all  the  other  peers,  and  al- 
lowed his  suit  to  drop.  Since  then  he  had  tried  unsuccessfully 
to  gain  it  by  stealth,  but  for  several  years  nothing  more 
had  been  heard  of  it.  Now,  however,  he  recommenced 
it,  and  with  every  intention,  as  we  soon  found,  to 
stop  at  no  intrigue  or  baseness  in  order  to  carry  his 
point. 

Nearly  everybody  was  in  his  favor.  The  Court,  though 
not  the  King,  was  almost  entirely  for  him ;  and  the  town, 
dazzled  by  the  splendor  of  his  exploits,  was  devoted  to 
him.  The  young  men  regarded  him  as  the  protector  of 


62  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

their  debauches;  for,  notwithstanding  his  age,  his  con- 
duct was  as  free  as  theirs.  He  had  captivated  the  troops 
and  the  general  officers. 

In  the  Parliament  he  had  a  staunch  supporter  in  Har- 
lay,  the  Chief  President,  who  led  that  great  body  at 
his  will,  and  whose  devotion  he  had  acquired  to  such  a 
degree,  that  he  believed  that  to  undertake  and  succeed 
were  only  the  same  things,  and  that  this  grand  affair 
would  scarcely  cost  him  a  winter  to  carry. 

Let  me  say  something  more  of  this  Harlay. 

Descended  from  two  celebrated  magistrates,  Achille 
d'Harlay  and  Christopher  De  Thou,  Harlay  imitated  their 
gravity,  but  carried  it  to  a  cynical  extent,  affected  their 
disinterestedness  and  modesty,  but  dishonored  the  first 
by  his  conduct,  and  the  second  by  a  refined  pride  which 
he  endeavored  without  success  to  conceal.  He  piqued 
himself,  above  all  things,  upon  his  probity  and  justice, 
but  the  mask  soon  fell.  Between  Peter  and  Paul  he 
maintained  the  strictest  fairness,  but  as  soon  as  he  per- 
ceived interest  or  favor  to  be  acquired,  he  sold  himself. 
This  trial  will  show  him  stripped  of  all  disguise.  He 
was  learned  in  the  law;  in  letters  he  was  second  to  no 
one ;  he  was  well  acquainted  with  history,  and  knew  how, 
above  all,  to  govern  his  company  with  an  authority  which 
suffered  no  reply,  and  which  no  other  chief  president  had 
ever  attained.  A  pharisaical  austerity  rendered  him  re- 
doubtable by  the  license  he  assumed  in  his  public  repri- 
mands, whether  to  plaintiffs,  or  defendants,  advocates 
or  magistrates ;  so  that  there  was  not  a  single  person  who 
did  not  tremble  to  have  to  do  with  him.  Besides  this, 
sustained  in  all  by  the  Court  ( of  which  he  was  the  slave, 
and  the  very  humble  servant  of  those  who  were  really  in 
favor),  a  subtle  courtier,  a  singularly  crafty  politician, 
he  used  all  those  talents  solely  to  further  his  ambition, 
his  desire  of  domination,  and  his  thirst  of  the  reputation 
of  a  great  man.  He  was  without  real  honor,  secretly  of 
corrupt  manners,  with  only  outside  probity,  without 
humanity  even ;  in  one  word,  a  perfect  hypocrite ;  without 
faith,  without  law,  without  a  God,  and  without  a  soul ;  a  cruel 
husband,  a  barbarous  father,  a  tyrannical  brother,  a  friend 
of  himself  alone,  wicked  by  nature  —  taking  pleasure  in 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  63 

insulting,  outraging,  and  overwhelming  others,  and  never  in 
his  life  having  lost  an  occasion  to  do  so.  His  wit  was  great, 
but  was  always  subservient  to  his  wickedness.  He  was 
small,  vigorous,  and  thin,  with  a  lozenge-shaped  face,  a 
long  aquiline  nose  —  fine,  speaking,  keen  eyes,  that  usually 
looked  furtively  at  you,  but  which,  if  fixed  on  a  client  or 
a  magistrate,  were  fit  to  make  him  sink  into  the  earth. 
He  wore  narrow  robes,  an  almost  ecclesiastical  collar  and 
wristband  to  match,  a  brown  wig  mixed  with  white, 
thickly  furnished  but  short,  and  with  a  great  cap  over 
it.  He  affected  a  bending  attitude,  and  walked  so,  with 
a  false  air,  more  humble  than  modest,  and  always  shaved 
along  the  walls,  to  make  people  make  way  for  him  with 
greater  noise ;  and  at  Versailles  worked  his  way  on  by  a 
series  of  respectful  and,  as  it  were,  shamefaced  bows 
to  the  right  and  left.  He  held  to  the  King  and  to 
Madame  de  Maintenon  by  knowing  their  weak  side;  and 
it  was  he  who,  being  consulted  upon  the  unheard-of 
legitimation  of  children  without  naming  the  mother,  had 
sanctioned  that  illegality  in  favor  of  the  King. 

Such  was  the  man  whose  influence  was  given  entirely 
to  our  opponent. 

To  assist  M.  de  Luxembourg's  case  as  much  as  possible, 
the  celebrated  Racine,  so  known  by  his  plays,  and  by 
the  order  he  had  received  at  that  time  to  write  the  history 
of  the  King,  was  employed  to  polish  and  ornament  his 
pleas.  Nothing  was  left  undone  by  M.  de  Luxembourg 
in  order  to  gain  this  cause. 

I  cannot  give  all  the  details  of  the  case,  the  statements 
made  on  both  sides,  and  the  defenses ;  they  would  occupy 
entire  volumes.  We  maintained  that  M.  de  Luxembourg 
was  in  no  way  entitled  to  the  precedence  he  claimed, 
and  we  had  both  law  and  justice  on  our  side.  To  give 
instructions  to  our  counsel,  and  to  follow  the  progress  of 
the  case,  we  met  once  a  week,  seven  or  eight  of  us  at 
least,  those  best  disposed  to  give  our  time  to  the  matter. 
Among  the  most  punctual  was  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld. 
I  had  been  solicited  from  the  commencement  to  take 
part  in  the  proceedings,  and  I  complied  most  willingly, 
apologizing  for  so  doing  to  M.  de  Luxembourg,  who  re- 
plied with  all  the  politeness  and  gallantry  possible,  that 


64  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

I  could  not  do  less  than  follow  an  example  my  father 
had  set  me. 

The  trial  having  commenced,  we  soon  saw  how  badly 
disposed  the  chief  president  was  toward  us.  He  ob- 
structed us  in  every  way,  and  acted  against  all  rules. 
There  seemed  no  means  of  defeating  his  evident  intention 
of  judging  against  us  than  by  gaining  time,  first  of  all; 
and  to  do  this  we  determined  to  get  the  case  adjourned. 
There  were,  however,  only  two  days  at  our  disposal,  and 
that  was  not  enough  in  order  to  comply  with  the  forms 
required  for  such  a  step.  We  were  all  in  the  greatest 
embarrassment,  when  it  fortunately  came  into  the  head 
of  one  of  our  lawyers  to  remind  us  of  a  privilege  we 
possessed,  by  which,  without  much  difficulty,  we  could 
obtain  what  we  required.  I  was  the  only  one  who  could, 
at  that  moment,  make  use  of  this  privilege.  I  hastened 
home  at  once,  to  obtain  the  necessary  papers,  deposited 
them  with  the  procureur  of  M.  de  Luxembourg,  and  the 
adjournment  was  obtained.  The  rage  of  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg was  without  bounds.  When  we  met  he  would  not 
salute  me,  and  in  consequence  I  discontinued  to  salute 
him;  by  which  he  lost  more  than  I,  in  his  position  and 
at  his  age,  and  furnished  in  the  rooms  and  the  galleries 
of  Versailles  a  sufficiently  ridiculous  spectacle.  In  addi- 
tion to  this  he  quarreled  openly  with  M.  de  Richelieu, 
and  made  a  bitter  attack  upon  him  in  one  of  his  pleas. 
But  M.  de  Richelieu,  meeting  him  soon  after  in  the 
Salle  des  Gardes  at  Versailles,  told  him  to  his  face  that 
he  should  soon  have  a  reply ;  and  said  that  he  feared  him 
neither  on  horseback  nor  on  foot  —  neither  him  nor  his 
crew — neither  in  town  nor  at  the  Court,  nor  even  in 
the  army,  nor  in  any  place  in  the  world;  and  without 
allowing  time  for  a  reply  he  turned  on  his  heel.  In  the 
end,  M.  de  Luxembourg  found  himself  so  closely  pressed 
that  he  was  glad  to  apologize  to  M.  de  Richelieu. 

After  a  time  our  cause,  sent  back  again  to  the  Parlia- 
ment, was  argued  there  with  the  same  vigor,  the  same 
partiality,  and  the  same  injustice  as  before:  seeing  this, 
we  felt  that  the  only  course  left  open  to  us  was  to  get 
the  case  sent  before  the  Assembly  of  all  the  Chambers, 
where  the  Judges,  from  their  number,  could  not  be  cor- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  65 

rupted  by  M.  de  Luxembourg,  and  where  the  authority  of 
Harlay  was  feeble,  while  over  the  Grand  Chamber,  in 
which  the  case  was  at  present,  it  was  absolute.  The  dif- 
ficulty was  to  obtain  an  assembly  of  all  the  Chambers,  for 
the  power  of  summoning  them  was  vested  solely  in  Harlay. 
However,  we  determined  to  try  and  gain  his  consent.  M. 
de  Chaulnes  undertook  to  go  upon  this  delicate  errand, 
and  acquitted  himself  well  of  his  mission.  He  pointed 
out  to  Harlay  that  everybody  was  convinced  of  his  lean- 
ing toward  M.  de  Luxembourg,  and  that  the  only  way  to 
efface  the  conviction  that  had  gone  abroad  was  to  comply 
with  our  request;  in  fine,  he  used  so  many  arguments, 
and  with  such  address,  that  Harlay,  confused  and  thrown 
off  his  guard,  and  repenting  of  the  manner  in  which  he 
had  acted  toward  us  as  being  likely  to  injure  his  interests, 
gave  a  positive  assurance  to  M.  de  Chaulnes  that  what 
we  asked  should  be  granted. 

We  had  scarcely  finished  congratulating  ourselves  upon 
this  unhoped-for  success,  when  we  found  that  we  had  to 
do  with  a  man  whose  word  was  a  very  sorry  support  to 
rest  upon.  M.  de  Luxembourg,  affrighted  at  the  promise 
Harlay  had  given,  made  him  resolve  to  break  it.  Sus- 
pecting this,  M.  de  Chaulnes  paid  another  visit  to  the  chief 
president,  who  admitted,  with  much  confusion,  that  he 
had  changed  his  views,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to  carry 
out  what  he  had  agreed  to.  After  this  we  felt  that  to 
treat  any  longer  with  a  man  so  perfidious  would  be  time 
lost;  and  we  determined,  therefore,  to  put  it  out  of  his 
power  to  judge  the  case  at  all. 

According  to  the  received  maxim,  WHOEVER  is  AT  LAW 

WITH    THE    SON    CANNOT    BE    JUDGED    BY    THE    FATHER,    Harlay 

had  a  son  who  was  advocate-general.  We  resolved  that 
one  among  us  should  bring  an  action  against  him. 

After  trying  in  vain  to  induce  the  Due  de  Rohan,  who 
was  the  only  one  of  our  number  who  could  readily  have 
done  it,  to  commence  a  suit  against  Harlay's  son,  we 
began  to  despair  of  arriving  at  our  aim.  Fortunately 
for  us,  the  vexation  of  Harlay  became  so  great  at  this 
time,  in  consequence  of  the  disdain  with  which  we 
treated  him,  and  which  we  openly  published,  that  he 
extricated  us  himself  from  our  difficulty.  We  had  only 

5 


66  ,     MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

to  supplicate  the  Due  de  Gesvres  in  the  cause  (he  said  to 
some  of  our  people),  and  we  should  obtain  what  we 
wanted;  for  the  Due  de  Gesvres  was  his  relative.  We 
took  him  at  his  word.  The  Due  de  Gesvres  received  in  two 
days  a  summons  on  our  part.  Harlay,  annoyed  with  him- 
self for  the  advice  he  had  given,  repented  of  it:  but  it 
was  too  late ;  he  was  declared  unable  to  judge  the  cause, 
and  the  case  itself  was  postponed  until  the  next  year. 

Meanwhile,  let  me  mention  a  circumstance  which 
should  have  found  a  place  before,  and  then  state  what 
occurred  in  the  interval  which  followed  until  the  trial 
recommenced. 

It  was  while  our  proceedings  were  making  some  little 
stir  that  fresh  favors  were  heaped  upon  the  King's 
illegitimate  sons,  at  the  instance  of  the  King  himself, 
and  with  the  connivance  of  Harlay,  who,  for  the  part 
he  took  in  the  affair,  was  promised  the  chancellorship 
when  it  should  become  vacant.  The  rank  of  these 
illegitimate  sons  was  placed  just  below  that  of  the 
princes  of  the  blood,  and  just  above  that  of  the  peers 
even  of  the  oldest  creation.  This  gave  us  all  exceeding 
annoyance;  it  was  the  greatest  injury  the  peerage  could 
have  received,  and  became  its  leprosy  and  sore.  All  the 
peers  who  could,  kept  themselves  aloof  from  the  Parlia- 
ment, when  M.  du  Maine,  M.  de  Vendome,  and  the 
Comte  de  Toulouse,  for  whom  this  arrangement  was 
specially  made,  were  received  there. 

There  were  several  marriages  at  the  Court  this  winter 
and  many  very  fine  balls,  at  which  latter  I  danced.  By 
the  spring,  preparations  were  ready  for  fresh  campaigns. 
My  regiment  ( I  had  bought  one  at  the  close  of  the  last 
season)  was  ordered  to  join  the  army  of  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg; but,  as  I  had  no  desire  to  be  under  him,  I  wrote 
to  the  King,  begging  to  be  exchanged.  In  a  short  time, 
to  the  great  vexation,  as  I  know,  of  M.  de  Luxembourg, 
my  request  was  granted.  The  Chevalier  de  Sully  went 
to  Flanders  in  my  place,  and  I  to  Germany  in  his.  I 
went  first  to  Soissons  to  see  my  regiment,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  the  recommendation  of  the  King,  was  more 
severe  with  it  than  I  should  otherwise  have  been.  I  set 
out  afterward  for  Strasburg,  where  I  was  surprised  with  the 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  67 

magnificence  of  the  town,  and  with  the  number,  beauty,  and 
grandeur  of  its  fortifications.  As  from  my  youth  I  knew 
and  spoke  German  perfectly,  I  sought  out  one  of  my 
early  German  acquaintances,  who  gave  me  much  pleasure. 
I  stopped  six  days  at  Strasburg  and  then  went  by  the 
Rhine  to  Philipsburg.  On  the  next  day  after  arriving 
there,  I  joined  the  cavalry,  which  was  encamped  at 
Obersheim. 

After  several  movements  —  in  which  we  passed  and  re - 
passed  the  Rhine  —  but  which  led  to  no  effective  result, 
we  encamped  for  forty  days  at  Gaw-Boecklheim,  one  of 
the  best  and  most  beautiful  positions  in  the  world,  and 
where  we  had  charming  weather,  although  a  little  dis- 
posed to  cold.  It  was  in  the  leisure  of  that  long  camp 
that  I  commenced  these  <(  Memoirs, B  incited  by  the  pleas- 
ure I  took  in  reading  those  of  Marshal  Bassompierre,  which 
invited  me  thus  to  write  what  I  should  see  in  my  own 
time. 

During  this  season  M.  de  Noailles  took  Palamos,  Gi- 
rone,  and  the  fortress  of  Castel-Follit  in  Catalonia.  This 
last  was  taken  by  the  daring  of  a  soldier,  who  led  on  a 
small  number  of  his  comrades,  and  carried  the  place  by 
assault.  Nothing  was  done  in  Italy ;  and  in  Flanders  M. 
de  Luxembourg  came  to  no  engagement  with  the  Prince 
of  Orange, 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Quarrels  of  the  Princesses  —  Mademoiselle  Choin  —  A  Disgraceful  Af- 
fair—  M.  de  Noyon — Comic  Scene  at  the  Academic  —  Anger  and 
Forgiveness  of  M.  de  Noyon — M.  de  Noailles  in  Disgrace  —  How 
He  Gets  into  Favor  Again  —  M.  de  Vend&me  in  Command  —  Char- 
acter of  M.  de  Luxembourg  —  The  Trial  for  Precedence  Again  — 
An  Insolent  Lawyer — Extraordinary  Decree. 

AFTER  our  long  rest  at  the  camp  of  Gaw-Boecklheim  we 
again  put  ourselves  in  movement,  but  without  doing 

much  against  the  enemy,  and  on  the  i6th  of  Oc- 
tober I  received  permission  to  return  to  Paris.  Upon 
my  arrival  there  I  learned  that  many  things  had  occurred 
since  I  left.  During  that  time  some  adventures  had  hap- 
pened to  the  Princesses,  as  the  three  illegitimate  daugh- 
ters of  the  King  were  called  for  distinction  sake.  Monsieur 
wished  that  the  Duchess  de  Chartres  should  always  call 
the  others  <(  sister, w  but  that  the  others  should  never  ad- 
dress her  except  as  (<  Madame. M  The  Princess  de  Conti 
submitted  to  this;  but  the  other  (Madame  la  Duchess, 
being  the  produce  of  the  same  love)  set  herself  to  call 
the  Duchess  de  Chartres  (<  mignonne. w  But  nothing  was 
less  mignonne  than  her  face  and  her  figure;  and  Mon- 
sieur, feeling  the  ridicule,  complained  to  the  King.  The 
King  prohibited  very  severely  this  familiarity. 

While  at  Trianon  these  Princesses  took  it  into  their 
heads  to  walk  out  at  night  and  divert  themselves  with 
crackers.  Either  from  malice  or  imprudence  they  let 
off  some  one  night  under  the  windows  of  Monsieur, 
rousing  him  thereby  out  of  his  sleep.  He  was  so  dis- 
pleased, that  he  complained  to  the  King,  who  made  him 
many  excuses  (scolding  the  Princesses),  but  had  great 
trouble  to  appease  him.  His  anger  lasted  a  long  time, 
and  the  Duchess  de  Chartres  felt  it.  I  do  not  know  if 
the  other  two  were  very  sorry.  Madame  la  Duchess  was 
accused  of  writing  some  songs  upon  the  Duchess  de 
Chartres. 

(68) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE  DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON         69 

The  Princess  de  Conti  had  another  adventure,  which 
made  considerable  noise,  and  which  had  great  results. 
She  had  taken  into  her  favor  Clermont,  ensign  of  the 
gendarmes  and  of  the  Guard.  He  had  pretended  to  be 
enamored  of  her,  and  had  not  been  repelled,  for  she  soon 
became  in  love  with  him.  Clermont  had  attached  him- 
self to  the  service  of  M.  de  Luxembourg,  and  was  the 
merest  creature  in  his  hands.  At  the  instigation  of  M. 
de  Luxembourg,  he  turned  away  his  regards  from  the 
Princess  de  Conti,  and  fixed  them  upon  one  of  her  maids 
of  honor — Mademoiselle  Choin,  a  great,  ugly,  brown, 
thick-set  girl,  upon  whom  Monseigneur  had  lately  be- 
stowed his  affection.  Monseigneur  made  no  secret  of 
this,  nor  did  she.  Such  being  the  case,  it  occurred  to 
M.  de  Luxembourg  (who  knew  he  was  no  favorite  with 
the  King,  and  who  built  all  his  hopes  of  the  future  upon 
Monseigneur)  that  Clermont,  by  marrying  La  Choin, 
might  thus  secure  the  favor  of  Monseigneur,  whose  en- 
tire confidence  she  possessed.  Clermont  was  easily  per- 
suaded that  this  would  be  for  him  a  royal  road  to  fortune, 
and  he  accordingly  entered  willingly  into  the  scheme, 
which  had  just  begun  to  move,  when  the  campaign  com- 
menced, and  everybody  went  away  to  join  the  armies. 

The  King,  who  partly  saw  this  intrigue,  soon  made 
himself  entirely  master  of  it,  by  intercepting  the  letters 
which  passed  between  the  various  parties.  He  read  there 
the  project  of  Clermont  and  La  Choin  to  marry,  and  thus 
govern  Monseigneur;  he  saw  how  M.  de  Luxembourg 
was  the  soul  of  this  scheme,  and  the  marvels  to  himself 
he  expected  from  it.  The  letters  Clermont  had  received 
from  the  Princess  de  Conti  he  now  sent  to  Mademoiselle 
la  Choin,  and  always  spoke  to  her  of  Monseigneur  as 
their  <(  fat  friend. w  With  this  correspondence  in  his  hands, 
the  King  one  day  sent  for  the  Princess  de  Conti,  said  in 
a  severe  tone  that  he  knew  of  her  weakness  for  Cler- 
mont ;  and,  to  prove  to  her  how  badly  she  had  placed  her 
affection,  showed  her  her  own  letters  to  Clermont,  and 
letters  in  which  he  had  spoken  most  contemptuously  of 
her  to  La  Choin.  Then,  as  a  cruel  punishment,  he  made 
her  read  aloud  to  him  the  whole  of  those  letters.  At 
this  she  almost  died,  and  threw  herself,  bathed  in  tears, 


70  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

at  the  feet  of  the  King,  scarcely  able  to  articulate.  Then 
came  sobs,  entreaty,  despair,  and  rage,  and  cries  for 
justice  and  revenge.  This  was  soon  obtained.  Mademoi- 
selle la  Choin  was  driven  away  the  next  day;  and  M.  de 
Luxembourg  had  orders  to  strip  Clermont  of  his  office, 
and  send  him  to  the  most  distant  part  of  the  kingdom. 
The  terror  of  M.  de  Luxembourg  and  the  Prince  de 
Conti  at  this  discovery  may  be  imagined.  Songs  in- 
creased the  notoriety  of  this  strange  adventure  between 
the  Princess  and  her  confidant. 

M.  de  Noyon  had  furnished  on  my  return  another  sub- 
ject for  the  song  writers,  and  felt  it  the  more  sensibly 
because  everybody  was  diverted  at  his  expense.  M.  de 
Noyon  was  extremely  vain,  and  afforded  thereby  much 
amusement  to  the  King.  A  chair  was  vacant  at  the 
Acade'mie  Frangaise.  The  King  wished  it  to  be  given  to 
M.  de  Noyon,  and  expressed  himself  to  that  effect  to 
Dangeau,  who  was  a  member.  As  may  be  believed,  the 
prelate  was  elected  without  difficulty.  His  Majesty  tes- 
tified to  the  Prince  de  Conde",  and  to  the  most  distinguished 
persons  of  the  Court,  that  he  should  be  glad  to  see  them 
at  the  reception.  Thus  M.  de  Noyon  was  the  first  mem- 
ber of  the  Acade'mie  chosen  by  the  King,  and  the  first 
at  whose  reception  he  had  taken  the  trouble  to  invite 
his  courtiers  to  attend. 

The  Abbe"  de  Caumartin  was  at  that  time  Director  of 
the  Acade'mie.  He  knew  the  vanity  of  M.  de  Noyon, 
and  determined  to  divert  the  public  at  his  expense.  He 
had  many  friends  in  power,  and  judged  that  his  pleas- 
antry would  be  overlooked,  and  even  approved.  He  com- 
posed, therefore,  a  confused  and  bombastic  discourse  in 
the  style  of  M.  de  Noyon,  full  of  pompous  phrases,  turn- 
ing the  prelate  into  ridicule,  while  they  seemed  to  praise 
him.  After  finishing  this  work,  he  was  afraid  lest  it 
should  be  thought  out  of  all  measure,  and,  to  reassure 
himself,  carried  it  to  M.  de  Noyon  himself,  as  a  scholar 
might  to  his  master,  in  order  to  see  whether  it  fully 
met  with  his  approval.  M.  de  Noyon,  so  far  from  sus- 
pecting anything,  was  charmed  by  the  discourse,  and 
simply  made  a  few  corrections  in  the  style.  The  Abbe" 
de  Caumartin  rejoiced  at  the  success  of  the  snare  he 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  71 

had  laid,  and  felt  quite  bold  enough  to  deliver  his 
harangue. 

The  day  came.  The  Academic  was  crowded.  The  King 
and  the  Court  were  there,  all  expecting  to  be  diverted. 
M.  de  Noyon,  saluting  everybody  with  a  satisfaction  he 
did  not  dissimulate,  made  his  speech  with  his  usual  con- 
fidence, and  in  his  usual  style.  The  Abbe"  replied  with 
a  modest  air,  and  with  a  gravity  and  slowness  that  gave 
great  effect  to  his  ridiculous  discourse.  The  surprise  and 
pleasure  were  general,  and  each  person  strove  to  intoxi- 
cate M.  de  Noyon  more  and  more,  making  him  believe 
that  the  speech  of  the  Abbe*  was  relished  solely  because 
it  had  so  worthily  praised  him.  The  prelate  was  de- 
lighted with  the  Abbe*  and  the  public,  and  conceived  not 
the  slightest  mistrust. 

The  noise  which  this  occurrence  made  may  be  imagined, 
and  the  praises  M.  de  Noyon  gave  himself  in  relating 
everywhere  what  he  had  said,  and  what  had  been  replied  to 
him.  M.  de  Paris,  at  whose  house  he  went,  thus  triumph- 
ing, did  not  like  him,  and  endeavored  to  open  his  eyes 
to  the  humiliation  he  had  received.  For  some  time  M. 
de  Noyon  would  not  be  convinced  of  the  truth;  it  was 
not  until  he  had  consulted  with  Pere  la  Chaise  that  he 
believed  it.  The  excess  of  rage  and  vexation  succeeded 
then  to  the  excess  of  rapture  he  had  felt.  In  this  state 
he  returned  to  his  house,  and  went  the  next  day  to  Ver- 
sailles. There  he  made  the  most  bitter  complaints  to  the 
King,  of  the  Abbe"  de  Caumartin,  by  whose  means  he  had 
become  the  sport  and  laughing-stock  of  all  the  world. 

The  King,  who  had  learned  what  had  passed,  was  him- 
self displeased.  He  ordered  Pontchartrain  (who  was  re- 
lated to  Caumartin)  to  rebuke  the  Abbe",  and  send  him  a 
lettre  de  cachet,  in  order  that  he  might  go  and  ripen  his 
brain  in  his  Abbey  of  Busay,  in  Brittany,  and  better 
learn  there  how  to  speak  and  write  Pontchartrain  exe- 
cuted the  first  part  of  his  commission,  but  not  the  second. 
He  pointed  out  to  the  King  that  the  speech  of  the  Abbe* 
de  Caumartin  had  been  revised  and  corrected  by  M.  de 
Noyon,  and  that,  therefore,  this  latter  had  only  himself  to 
blame  in  the  matter.  He  declared,  too,  that  the  Abbe" 
was  very  sorry  for  what  he  had  done,  and  was  most  will- 


72  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

ing  to  beg  pardon  of  M.  de  Noyon.  The  lettre  de  cachet 
thus  fell  to  the  ground,  but  not  the  anger  of  the  prelate. 
He  was  so  outraged  that  he  would  not  see  the  Abbe",  re- 
tired into  his  diocese  to  hide  his  shame,  and  remained 
there  a  long  time. 

Upon  his  return  to  Paris,  however,  being  taken  ill,  be- 
fore consenting  to  receive  the  sacraments,  he  sent  for  the 
Abbe\  embraced  him,  pardoned  him,  and  gave  him  a 
diamond  ring,  that  he  drew  from  his  finger,  and  that  he 
begged  him  to  keep  in  memory  of  him.  Nay,  more,  when 
he  was  cured,  he  used  all  his  influence  to  reinstate  the 
Abbe*  in  the  esteem  of  the  King.  But  the  King  could 
never  forgive  what  had  taken  place,  and  M.  de  Noyon,  by 
this  grand  action,  gained  only  the  favor  of  God  and  the 
honor  of  the  world. 

I  must  finish  the  account  of  the  war  of  this  year  with 
a  strange  incident.  M.  de  Noailles,  who  had  been  so  suc- 
cessful in  Catalonia,  was  on  very  bad  terms  with  Barbe- 
zieux,  secretary  of  state  for  the  war  department.  Both 
were  in  good  favor  with  the  King,  both  high  in  power, 
both  spoiled.  The  successes  in  Catalonia  had  annoyed 
Barbezieux.  They  smoothed  the  way  for  the  siege  of 
Barcelona,  and  that  place  once  taken,  the  very  heart  of 
Spain  would  have  been  exposed,  and  M.  de  Noailles  would 
have  gained  fresh  honors  and  glory.  M.  de  Noailles  felt 
this  so  completely  that  he  had  pressed  upon  the  King 
the  siege  of  Barcelona;  and  when  the  fitting  time  came 
for  undertaking  it,  sent  a  messenger  to  him  with  full  in- 
formation of  the  forces  and  supplies  he  required.  Fear- 
ing that  if  he  wrote  out  this  information  it  might  fall 
into  the  hands  of  Barbezieux,  and  never  reach  the  King, 
he  simply  gave  his  messenger  instructions  by  word  of 
mouth,  and  charged  him  to  deliver  them  so.  But  the  very 
means  he  had  taken  to  insure  success  brought  about  failure. 
Barbezieux,  informed  by  his  spies  of  the  departure  of  the 
messenger,  waylaid  him,  bribed  him,  and  induced  him  to 
act  with  the  blackest  perfidy,  by  telling  the  King  quite  a 
different  story  to  that  he  was  charged  with.  In  this  way, 
the  project  for  the  siege  of  Barcelona  was  entirely  broken, 
at  the  moment  for  its  execution,  and  with  the  most  rea- 
sonable hopes  of  success ;  and  upon  M.  de  Noailles  rested 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  73 

all  the  blame.  What  a  thunderbolt  this  was  for  him  may 
easily  be  imagined.  But  the  trick  had  been  so  well 
played,  that  he  could  not  clear  himself  with  the  King; 
and  all  through  this  winter  he  remained  out  of  favor. 

At  last  he  thought  of  a  means  by  which  he  might  re- 
gain his  position.  He  saw  the  inclination  of  the  King 
for  his  illegitimate  children  and  determined  to  make  a 
sacrifice  in  favor  of  one  of  them,  rightly  judging  that 
this  would  be  a  sure  means  to  step  back  into  the  confi- 
dence he  had  been  so  craftily  driven  from.  His  scheme, 
which  he  caused  to  be  placed  before  the  King,  was  to  go 
into  Catalonia  at  the  commencement  of  the  next  campaign, 
to  make  a  semblance  of  falling  ill  immediately  upon  ar- 
riving, to  send  to  Versailles  a  request  that  he  might  be 
recalled,  and  at  the  same  time  a  suggestion  that  M.  de 
Vendome  (who  would  then  be  near  Nice,  under  Mare"chal 
Catinat)  should  succeed  him.  In  order  that  no  time 
might  be  lost,  nor  the  army  left  without  a  general,  he 
proposed  to  carry  with  him  the  letters  patent,  appointing 
M.  de  Vendome,  and  to  send  them  to  him  at  the  same 
time  that  he  sent  to  be  recalled. 

It  is  impossible  to  express  the  relief  and  satisfaction 
with  which  this  proposition  was  received.  The  King  was 
delighted  with  it,  as  with  everything  tending  to  advance 
his  illegitimate  children  and  to  put  a  slight  upon  the 
Princes  of  the  blood.  He  could  not  openly  have  made 
this  promotion  without  embroiling  himself  with  the  lat- 
ter ;  but  coming  as  it  would  from  M.  de  Noailles,  he  had 
nothing  to  fear.  M.  de  Vendome,  once  general  of  an 
army,  could  no  longer  serve  in  any  other  quality,  and 
would  act  as  a  stepping-stone  for  M.  du  Maine. 

From  this  moment  M.  de  Noailles  returned  more  than 
ever  into  the  good  graces  of  the  King.  Everything  hap- 
pened as  it  had  been  arranged.  But  the  secret  was  be- 
trayed in  the  execution.  Surprise  was  felt  that  at  the 
same  moment  M.  de  Noailles  sent  a  request  to  be  re- 
called, he  also  sent,  and  without  waiting  for  a  reply,  to 
call  M.  de  Vendome  to  the  command.  What  completely 
raised  the  veil  were  the  letters  patent  that  he  sent  im- 
mediately after  to  M.  de  Vendome,  and  that  it  was  known 
he  could  not  have  received  from  the  King  in  the  time 


74  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

that  had  elapsed.  M.  de  Noailles  returned  from  Cata- 
lonia, and  was  received  as  his  address  merited.  He 
feigned  being  lame  with  rheumatism,  and  played  the 
part  for  a  long  time,  but  forgot  himself  occasionally,  and 
made  his  company  smile.  He  fixed  himself  at  the  Court, 
and  gained  there  much  more  favor  than  he  could  have 
gained  by  the  war;  to  the  great  vexation  of  Barbe- 
zieux. 

M.  de  Luxembourg  very  strangely  married  his  daughter 
at  this  time  to  the  Chevalier  de  Soissons  (an  illegitimate 
son  of  the  Count  de  Soissons),  brought  out  from  the 
greatest  obscurity  by  the  Comtesse  de  Nemours,  and 
adopted  by  her  to  spite  her  family.  M.  de  Luxembourg 
did  not  long  survive  this  fine  marriage.  At  sixty-seven 
years  of  age  he  believed  himself  twenty-five,  and  lived 
accordingly.  The  want  of  genuine  intrigues,  from  which 
his  age  and  his  face  excluded  him,  he  supplied  by  money 
power;  and  his  intimacy,  and  that  of  his  son,  with  the 
Prince  de  Conti  and  Albergotti  was  kept  up  almost 
entirely  by  the  community  of  their  habits,  and  the  secret 
parties  of  pleasure  they  concocted  together.  All  the 
burden  of  marches,  of  orders  of  subsistence,  fell  upon  a 
subordinate.  Nothing  could  be  more  exact  than  the 
coup  d'ceil  of  M.  de  Luxembourg — nobody  could  be  more 
brilliant,  more  sagacious,  more  penetrating  than  he  before 
the  enemy  or  in  battle,  and  this,  too,  with  an  audacity, 
and  ease,  and  at  the  same  time  a  coolness,  which  allowed 
him  to  see  all  and  foresee  all  under  the  hottest  fire,  and 
in  the  most  imminent  danger.  It  was  at  such  times  that 
he  was  great.  For  the  rest  he  was  idleness  itself.  He 
rarely  walked  unless  absolutely  obliged, —  spent  his  time 
in  gaming,  or  in  conversation  with  his  familiars ;  and  had 
every  evening  a  supper  with  a  chosen  few  (nearly  always 
the  same) ;  and  if  near  a  town,  the  sex  were  always 
agreeably  mingled  with  them.  When  thus  occupied,  he 
was  inaccessible  to  everybody,  and  if  anything  pressing 
happened,  it  was  his  subordinate  who  attended  to  it. 
Such  was  at  the  army  the  life  of  this  great  general,  and 
such  it  was  at  Paris,  except  that  the  Court  and  the  great 
world  occupied  his  days,  and  his  pleasures  the  evenings. 
At  last,  age,  temperament,  and  constitution  betrayed  him. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  75 

He  fell  ill  at  Versailles.  Given  over  by  Fagon,  the 
King's  physician,  Coretti,  an  Italian,  who  had  secrets  of 
his  own,  undertook  his  cure,  and  relieved  him,  but  only 
for  a  short  time.  His  door  during  his  illness  was 
besieged  by  all  the  Court.  The  King  sent  to  inquire 
after  him,  but  it  was  more  for  appearance  sake  than  for 
sympathy,  for  I  have  already  remarked  that  the  King  did 
not  like  him.  The  brilliancy  of  his  campaigns,  and  the 
difficulty  of  replacing  him,  caused  all  the  disquietude. 
Becoming  worse,  M.  de  Luxembourg  received  the  sacra- 
ments, showed  some  religion  and  firmness  and  died  on 
the  morning  of  the  4th  of  January,  1695,  the  fifth  day  of 
his  illness,  much  regretted  by  many  people,  but  personally 
esteemed  by  none,  and  loved  by  very  few. 

Not  one  of  the  Dues,  M.  de  Luxembourg  had  attacked, 
went  to  see  him  during  his  illness.  I  neither  went  nor 
sent,  although  at  Versailles,  and  I  must  admit  that  I  felt 
my  deliverance  from  such  an  enemy. 

Here,  perhaps,  I  may  as  well  relate  the  result  of  the 
trial  in  which  we  were  engaged,  and  which,  after  the 
death  of  M.  de  Luxembourg,  was  continued  by  his  son. 
It  was  not  judged  until  the  following  year.  I  have  shown 
that  by  our  implicating  the  Due  de  Gesvres,  the  Chief 
President  had  been  declared  incapable  of  trying  the 
case.  The  rage  he  conceived  against  us  cannot  be  ex- 
pressed, and,  great  actor  that  he  was,  he  could  not  hide 
it.  All  his  endeavor  afterward  was  to  do  what  he  could 
against  us;  the  rest  of  the  mask  fell,  and  the  deformity 
of  the  judge  appeared  in  the  man,  stripped  of  all  disguise. 

We  immediately  signified  to  M.  de  Luxembourg  that 
he  must  choose  between  the  letters  patent  of  1581  and 
those  of  1662.  If  he  abandoned  the  first  the  case  fell 
through;  in  repudiating  the  last  he  renounced  the  cer- 
tainty of  being  duke  and  peer  after  us ;  and  ran  the  risk 
of  being  reduced  to  an  inferior  title  previously  granted 
to  him.  The  position  was  a  delicate  one;  he  was  af- 
frighted; but  after  much  consultation  he  resolved  to  run 
all  risks  and  maintain  his  pretensions.  It  thus  simply 
became  a  question  of  his  right  to  the  title  of  Due  de 
Piney,  with  the  privilege  attached  to  it  as  a  creation 
of  1581. 


76  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

In  the  spring  of  1696  the  case  was  at  last  brought  on, 
before  the  assembly  of  all  the  chambers.  Myself  and 
the  other  Dues  seated  ourselves  in  court  to  hear  the 
proceedings.  The  trial  commenced.  All  the  facts  and 
particulars  of  the  cause  were  brought  forward.  Our  advo- 
cates spoke,  and  then  few  doubted  but  that  we  should 
gain  the  victory.  M.  de  Luxembourg's  advocate,  Dumont, 
was  next  heard.  He  was  very  audacious,  and  spoke  so 
insolently  of  us,  saying,  in  Scripture  phraseology,  that 
we  honored  the  King  with  our  lips,  while  our  hearts 
were  far  from  him,  that  I  could  not  contain  myself.  I 
was  seated  between  the  Due  de  la  Rochefoucauld  and 
the  Due  d'Estre"es.  I  stood  up,  crying  out  against  the 
imposture  of  this  knave,  and  calling  for  justice  on  him. 
M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld  pulled  me  back,  made  me  keep 
silent,  and  I  plunged  down  into  my  seat  more  from 
anger  against  him  than  against  the  advocate.  My  move- 
ment excited  a  murmur.  We  might  on  the  instant  have 
had  justice  against  Dumont,  but  the  opportunity  had 
passed  for  us  to  ask  for  it,  and  the  President  de  Maisons 
made  a  slight  excuse  for  him.  We  complained,  how- 
ever, afterward  to  the  King,  who  expressed  his  surprise 
that  Dumont  had  not  been  stopped  in  the  midst  of  his 
speech. 

The  summing  up  was  made  by  D'Aguesseau,  who 
acquitted  himself  of  the  task  with  much  eloquence  and 
impartiality.  His  speech  lasted  two  days.  This  being 
over,  the  court  was  cleared,  and  the  judges  were  left 
alone  to  deliberate  upon  their  verdict.  Some  time  after 
we  were  called  in  to  hear  that  verdict  given.  It  was  in 
favor  of  M.  de  Luxembourg  in  so  far  as  the  title  dating 
from  1662  was  concerned;  but  the  consideration  of  his 
claim  to  the  title  of  1581  was  adjourned  indefinitely,  so 
that  he  remained  exactly  in  the  same  position  as  his 
father. 

It  was  with  difficulty  we  could  believe  in  a  decree  so 
unjust  and  so  novel,  and  which  decided  a  question  that 
was  not  under  dispute.  I  was  outraged,  but  I  endeavored 
to  contain  myself.  I  spoke  to  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld, 
I  tried  to  make  him  listen  to  me,  and  to  agree  that  we 
should  complain  to  the  King,  but  I  spoke  to  a  man 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  77 

furious,  incapable  of  understanding  anything  or  of  doing 
anything.  Returning  to  my  own  house,  I  wrote  a  letter 
to  the  King,  in  which  I  complained  of  the  opinion  of 
the  judges.  I  also  pointed  out,  that  when  everybody 
had  been  ordered  to  retire  from  the  council  chamber, 
Harlay  and  his  secretary  had  been  allowed  to  remain. 
On  these  and  other  grounds  I  begged  the  King  to  grant 
a  new  trial. 

I  carried  this  letter  to  the  Due  de  la  Tre'moille,  but  I 
could  not  get  him  to  look  at  it.  I  returned  home  more 
vexed  if  possible  than  when  I  left.  The  King,  never- 
theless, was  exceedingly  dissatisfied  with  the  judgment. 
He  explained  himself  to  that  effect  at  his  dinner,  and  in 
a  manner  but  little  advantageous  to  the  Parliament,  and 
prepared  himself  to  receive  the  complaints  he  expected 
would  be  laid  before  him.  But  the  obstinacy  of  M.  de 
la  Rochefoucauld,  which  turned  into  vexation  against 
himself,  rendered  it  impossible  for  us  to  take  any  steps 
in  the  matter,  and  so  overwhelmed  me  with  displeasure, 
that  I  retired  to  La  Trappe  during  Passion  Week  in  order 
to  recover  myself. 

At  my  return  I  learned  that  the  King  had  spoken  of 
this  judgment  to  the  Chief  President,  and  that  that 
magistrate  had  blamed  it,  saying  the  cause  was  indubit- 
ably ours,  and  that  he  had  always  thought  so!  If  he 
thought  so,  why  oppose  us  so  long  ?  and  if  he  did  not 
think  so,  what  a  prevaricator  was  he  to  reply  with  this 
flattery,  so  as  to  be  in  accord  with  the  King.  The 
judges  themselves  were  ashamed  of  their  verdict,  and 
excused  themselves  for  it  on  the  ground  of  their  com- 
passion for  the  state  in  which  M.  de  Luxembourg  would 
have  been  placed  had  he  lost  the  title  of  1662,  and 
upon  its  being  impossible  that  he  should  gain  the  one 
of  1581,  of  which  they  had  left  him  the  chimera.  M.  de 
Luxembourg  was  accordingly  received  at  the  Parliament 
on  the  4th  of  the  following  May,  with  the  rank  of  1662. 
He  came  and  visited  all  of  us,  but  we  would  have  no 
intercourse  with  him  or  with  his  judges.  To  the  Advocate- 
General,  D'Aguesseau,  we  carried  our  thanks. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

Harlay  and  the  Dutch  —  Death  of  the  Princess  of  Orange  —  Count 
Koenigsmarck  —  A  New  Proposal  of  Marriage  —  My  Marriage — 
That  of  M.  de  Lauzun  —  Its  Result  —  La  Fontaine  and  Mignard 
—  Illness  of  the  Marechal  de  Lorges  —  Operations  on  the  Rhine  — 
Village  of  Seckenheim  —  An  Episode  of  War  —  Cowardice  of  M.  du 
Maine  —  Despair  of  the  King,  Who  Takes  a  Knave  in  the  Act — 
Bon  Mot  of  M.  d'Elboeuf. 

THUS  ended  this  long  and  important  case;  and  now 
let  me  go  back  again  to  the  events  of  the  previous 
year. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  summer  and  the  commence- 
ment of  the  winter  of  1695,  negotiations  for  peace  were 
set  on  foot  by  the  King.  Harlay,  son-in-law  of  our 
enemy,  was  sent  to  Maestricht  to  sound  the  Dutch.  But 
in  proportion  as  they  saw  peace  desired  were  they  less 
inclined  to  listen  to  terms.  They  had  even  the  impu- 
dence to  insinuate  to  Harlay,  whose  paleness  and  thin- 
ness were  extraordinary,  that  they  took  him  for  a  sample 
of  the  reduced  state  of  France!  He,  without  getting 
angry,  replied  pleasantly,  that  if  they  would  give  him 
the  time  to  send  for  his  wife,  they  would,  perhaps,  con- 
ceive another  opinion  of  the  position  of  the  realm.  In 
effect,  she  was  extremely  fat,  and  of  a  very  high  color. 
He  was  rather  roughly  dismissed,  and  hastened  to  regain 
our  frontier. 

Two  events  followed  each  other  very  closely  this  winter. 
The  first  was  the  death  of  the  Princess  of  Orange,  in  Lon- 
don, at  the  end  of  January.  The  King  of  England* 
prayed  our  King  to  allow  the  Court  to  wear  no  mourn- 
ing, and  it  was  even  prohibited  to  M.  de  Bouillon  and 
M.  de  Duras,  who  were  both  related  to  the  Prince  of 
Orange.  The  order  was  obeyed,  and  no  word  was  said; 
but  this  sort  of  vengeance  was  thought  petty.  Hopes 

*  James  II.  in  exile. 

(78) 


MEMOIRS  OP  THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON        79 

were  held  out  of  a  change  in  England,  but  they  van- 
ished immediately,  and  the  Prince  of  Orange  appeared 
more  accredited  there  and  stronger  than  ever.  The 
Princess  was  much  regretted,  and  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
who  loved  her  and  gave  her  his  entire  confidence,  and 
even  most  marked  respect,  was  for  some  days  ill  with 
grief. 

The  other  event  was  strange.  The  Duke  of  Hanover, 
who,  in  consequence  of  the  Revolution,  was  destined  to 
the  throne  of  England  after  the  Prince  and  Princess  of 
Orange  and  the  Princess  of  Denmark,  had  married  his 
cousin-german,  a  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Zell.  She  was 
beautiful,  and  he  lived  happily  with  her  for  some  time. 
The  Count  of  Koenigsmarck,  young  and  very  well  made, 
came  to  the  court  and  gave  him  some  umbrage.  The 
Duke  of  Hanover  became  jealous;  he  watched  his  wife 
and  the  Count,  and  at  length  believed  himself  fully  as- 
sured of  what  he  would  have  wished  to  remain  ignorant 
of  all  his  life.  Fury  seized  him:  he  had  the  Count  ar- 
rested, and  thrown  into  a  hot  oven.  Immediately  after- 
ward he  sent  his  wife  to  her  father,  who  shut  her  up  in 
one  of  his  castles,  where  she  was  strictly  guarded  by  the 
people  of  the  Duke  of  Hanover.  An  assembly  of  the 
Consistory  was  held  in  order  to  break  off  his  marriage. 
It  was  decided,  very  singularly,  that  the  marriage  was 
annulled  so  far  as  the  Duke  was  concerned,  and  that  he 
could  marry  another  woman;  but  that  it  remained  bind- 
ing on  the  Duchess,  and  that  she  could  not  marry.  The 
children  she  had  had  during  her  marriage  were  declared 
legitimate.  The  Duke  of  Hanover  did  not  remain  per- 
suaded as  to  the  last  article. 

The  King,  entirely  occupied  with  the  aggrandizement 
of  his  natural  children,  had  heaped  upon  the  Comte  de 
Toulouse  every  possible  favor.  He  now  (in  order  to 
evade  a  promise  he  had  made  to  his  brother,  that  the 
first  vacant  government  should  be  given  to  the  Due  de 
Chartres)  forced  M.  de  Chaulnes  to  give  up  the  govern- 
ment of  Brittany,  which  he  had  long  held,  and  conferred 
it  upon  the  Comte  de  Toulouse,  giving  to  the  friend  and 
heir  of  the  former  the  successorship  to  the  government 
of  Guyenne,  by  way  of  recompense. 


8o  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

M.  de  Chaulnes  was  old  and  fat,  but  much  loved  by 
the  people  of  Brittany.  He  was  overwhelmed  by  this 
determination  of  the  King,  and  his  wife,  who  had  long 
been  accustomed  to  play  the  little  Queen,  still  more  so; 
yet  there  was  nothing  for  them  but  to  obey.  They  did 
obey,  but  it  was  with  a  sorrow  and  chagrin  they  could 
not  hide. 

The  appointment  was  announced  one  morning  at  the 
rising  of  the  King.  Monsieur,  who  awoke  later,  heard 
of  it  at  the  drawing  of  his  curtains,  and  was  extremely 
piqued.  The  Comte  de  Toulouse  came  shortly  afterward, 
and  announced  it  himself.  Monsieur  interrupted  him,  and 
before  everybody  assembled  there  said,  (<  The  King  has 
given  you  a  good  present;  but  I  know  not  if  what  he 
has  done  is  good  policy.*  Monsieur  went  shortly  after- 
ward to  the  King,  and  reproached  him  for  giving,  under 
cover  of  a  trick,  the  government  of  Brittany  to  the 
Comte  de  Toulouse,  having  promised  it  to  the  Due  de 
Chartres.  The  King  heard  him  in  silence :  he  knew  well 
how  to  appease  him.  Some  money  for  play  and  to  em- 
bellish Saint  Cloud,  soon  effaced  Monsieur's  chagrin. 

All  this  winter  my  mother  was  solely  occupied  in  find- 
ing a  good  match  for  me.  Some  attempt  was  made  to 
marry  me  to  Mademoiselle  de  Royan.  It  would  have 
been  a  noble  and  rich  marriage;  but  I  was  alone,  Mad- 
emoiselle de  Royan  was  an  orphan,  and  I  wished  a 
father-in-law  and  a  family  upon  whom  I  could  lean. 
During  the  preceding  year  there  had  been  some  talk  of 
the  eldest  daughter  of  Mare"chal  de  Lorges  for  me.  The 
affair  had  fallen  through,  almost  as  soon  as  suggested, 
and  now,  on  both  sides,  there  was  a  desire  to  recom- 
mence negotiations.  The  probity,  integrity,  the  freedom 
of  Mare"chal  de  Lorges  pleased  me  infinitely,  and  every- 
thing tended  to  give  me  an  extreme  desire  for  this  mar- 
riage. Madame  de  Lorges  by  her  virtue  and  good  sense 
was  all  I  could  wish  for  as  the  mother  of  my  future 
wife.  Mademoiselle  de  Lorges  was  a  blonde,  with  com- 
plexion and  figure  perfect,  a  very  amiable  face,  an  ex- 
tremely noble  and  modest  deportment,  and  with  I  know 
not  what  of  majesty  derived  from  her  air  of  virtue,  and 
of  natural  gentleness.  The  Mare"chal  had  five  other 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  81 

daughters,  but  I  liked  this  one  best  without  comparison, 
and  hoped  to  find  with  her  that  happiness  which  she  since 
has  given  me.  As  she  has  become  my  wife,  I  will  ab- 
stain here  from  saying  more  about  her,  unless  it  be  that 
she  has  exceeded  all  that  was  promised  of  her,  and  all 
that  I  myself  had  hoped. 

My  marriage  being  agreed  upon  and  arranged,  the 
Mare"chal  de  Lorges  spoke  of  it  to  the  King,  who  had 
the  goodness  to  reply  to  him  that  he  could  not  do  better, 
and  to  speak  of  me  very  obligingly.  The  marriage 
accordingly  took  place  at  the  Hotel  de  Lorges,  on  the 
8th  of  April,  1695,  which  I  have  always  regarded,  and 
with  good  reason,  as  the  happiest  day  of  my  life.  My 
mother  treated  me  like  the  best  mother  in  the  world. 
On  the  Thursday  before  Quasimodo  the  contract  was 
signed;  a  grand  repast  followed;  at  midnight  the  curt  of 
Saint  Roch  said  mass,  and  married  us  in  the  chapel  of 
the  house.  On  the  eve,  my  mother  had  sent  forty 
thousand  livres'  worth  of  precious  stones  to  Mademoiselle 
de  Lorges,  and  I  six  hundred  louis  in  a  corbeille  filled 
with  all  the  knick-knacks  that  are  given  on  these 
occasions. 

We  slept  in  the  grand  apartment  of  the  Hotel  des 
Lorges.  On  the  morrow,  after  dinner,  my  wife  went 
to  bed,  and  received  a  crowd  of  visitors,  who  came  to 
pay  their  respects  and  to  gratify  their  curiosity.  The 
next  evening  we  went  to  Versailles,  and  were  received 
by  Madame  de  Maintenon  and  the  King.  On  arriving 
at  the  supper  table,  the  King  said  to  the  new  Duchess : — 
(<  Madame,  will  you  be  pleased  to  seat  yourself  ?  * 

His  napkin  being  unfolded,  he  saw  all  the  duchesses 
and  princesses  still  standing;  and  rising  in  his  chair,  he 
said  to  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  — <(  Madame,  I  have 
already  begged  you  to  be  seated ;  M  and  all  immediately 
seated  themselves.  On  the  morrow,  Madame  de  Saint 
Simon  received  all  the  Court  in  her  bed  —  in  the  apart- 
ment of  the  Duchess  d'Arpajon,  as  being  more  handy, 
being  on  the  ground  floor.  Our  festivities  finished 
by  a  supper  that  I  gave  to  the  former  friends  of  my 
father,  whose  acquaintance  I  had  always  cultivated  with 
great  care. 
6 


82  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

Almost  immediately  after  my  marriage  the  second 
daughter  of  the  Mare*chal  de  Lorges  followed  in  the 
footsteps  of  her  sister.  She  was  fifteen  years  of  age, 
and  at  the  reception  of  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  had  at- 
tracted the  admiration  of  M.  de  Lauzun,  who  was  then 
sixty-three.  Since  his  return  to  the  Court  he  had  been 
reinstated  in  the  dignity  he  had  previously  held.  He 
flattered  himself  that  by  marrying  the  daughter  of  a 
General  he  should  reopen  a  path  to  himself  for  com- 
mand in  the  army.  Full  of  this  idea  he  spoke  to  M.  de 
Lorges,  who  was  by  no  means  inclined  toward  the  mar- 
riage. M.  de  Lauzun  offered,  however,  to  marry  without 
dowry;  and  M.  de  Lorges,  moved  by  this  consideration, 
assented  to  his  wish.  The  affair  concluded,  M.  de  Lorges 
spoke  of  it  to  the  King.  <(  You  are  bold, w  said  his 
Majesty,  (<  to  take  Lauzun  into  your  family.  I  hope  you 
may  not  repent  of  it.* 

The  contract  was  soon  after  signed.  M.  de  Lorges 
gave  no  dowry  with  his  daughter,  but  she  was  to  in- 
herit something  upon  the  death  of  M.  Fre'mont.  We 
carried  this  contract  to  the  King,  who  smiled  and  ban- 
tered M.  de  Lauzun.  M.  de  Lauzun  replied,  that  he 
was  only  too  happy,  since  it  was  the  first  time  since  his 
return  that  he  had  seen  the  King  smile  at  him.  The 
marriage  took  place  without  delay :  there  were  only  seven 
or  eight  persons  present  at  the  ceremony.  M.  de  Lau- 
zun WOULD  undress  himself  alone  with  his  valet  de 
ckambre,  and  did  not  enter  the  apartment  of  his  wife  un- 
til after  everybody  had  left  it,  and  she  was  in  bed  with  the 
curtains  closed,  and  nobody  to  meet  him  on  his  passage. 
His  wife  received  company  in  bed,  as  mine  had  done. 
Nobody  was  able  to  understand  this  marriage;  and  all 
foresaw  that  a  rupture  would  speedily  be  brought  about 
by  the  well-known  temper  of  M.  de  Lauzun.  In  effect, 
this  is  what  soon  happened.  The  Mar6chal  de  Lorges, 
remaining  still  in  weak  health,  was  deemed  by  the  King 
unable  to  take  the  field  again,  and  his  army  was  given  over 
to  the  command  of  another  General.  M.  de  Lauzun  thus  saw 
all  his  hopes  of  advancement  at  an  end,  and,  discontented 
that  the  Mare"chal  had  done  nothing  for  him,  broke  off  all 
connection  with  the  family,  took  away  Madame  de  Lau- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  83 

zun  from  her  mother  (to  the  great  grief  of  the  latter, 
who  doted  upon  this  daughter)  and  established  her  in  a 
house  of  his  own  adjoining  the  Assumption,  in  the  Fau- 
bourg St.  Honore".  There  she  had  to  endure  her  hus- 
band's continual  caprices,  but  little  removed  in  their 
manifestations  from  madness.  Everybody  cast  blame 
upon  him,  and  strongly  pitied  her  and  her  father  and 
mother;  but  nobody  was  surprised. 

A  few  days  after  the  marriage  of  M.  de  Lauzun,  as 
the  King  was  being  wheeled  in  his  easy  chair  in  the  gar- 
dens at  Versailles,  he  asked  me  for  many  minute  partic- 
ulars concerning  the  family  of  the  Mare"chal  de  Lorges. 
He  then  set  himself  to  joke  with  me  upon  the  marriage 
of  M.  de  Lauzun  —  and  upon  mine.  He  said  to  me,  in 
spite  of  that  gravity  which  never  -  quitted  him,  that  he 
had  learned  from  the  Mare"chal  I  had  well  acquitted  my- 
self, but  that  he  believed  the  Marechale  had  still  better 
news. 

The  loss  of  two  illustrious  men  about  this  time,  made 
more  noise  than  that  of  two  of  our  grand  ladies.  The 
first  of  these  men  was  La  Fontaine,  so  well  known  by 
his  (<  Fables >J  and  stories,  and  who,  nevertheless,  was  so 
heavy  in  conversation.  The  other  was  Mignard  —  so  illus- 
trious by  his  pencil:  he  had  an  only  daughter — perfectly 
beautiful :  she  is  repeated  in  several  of  those  magnificent 
historical  pictures  which  adorn  the  grand  gallery  of  Ver- 
sailles and  its  two  salons,  and  which  have  had  no  slight 
share  in  irritating  all  Europe  against  the  King,  and  in 
leaguing  it  still  more  against  his  person  than  his  realm. 

At  the  usual  time  the  armies  were  got  ready'  for  act- 
ive service,  and  everybody  set  out  to  join  them.  That 
of  the  Rhine,  in  which  I  was,  was  commanded  by  the 
Mare"chal  de  Lorges.  No  sooner  had  we  crossed  the  river 
and  come  upon  the  enemy,  than  the  Mare"chal  fell  ill. 
Although  we  were  in  want  of  forage  and  were  badly  en- 
camped, nobody  complained  —  nobody  wished  to  move. 
Never  did  an  army  show  so  much  interest  in  the  life  of 
its  chief,  or  so  much  love  for  him.  M.  de  Lorges  was, 
in  truth,  at  the  last  extremity,  and  the  doctors  that  had 
been  sent  for  from  Strasburg  gave  him  up  entirely.  I 
took  upon  myself  to  administer  to  him  some  (<  English 


84  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

Drops. w  One  hundred  and  thirty  were  given  him  in  three 
doses:  the  effect  was  astonishing;  an  eruption  burst  out 
upon  the  Marshal's  body,  and  saved  his  life.  His  ill- 
ness was  not,  however,  at  an  end ;  and  the  army,  although 
suffering  considerably,  would  not  hear  of  moving  until 
he  was  quite  ready  to  move  also.  There  was  no  extrem- 
ity it  would  not  undergo  rather  than  endanger  the  life 
of  its  chief. 

Prince  Louis  of  Baden  offered  by  trumpets  all  sorts  of 
assistance  —  doctors  and  remedies,  and  gave  his  word 
that  if  the  army  removed  from  its  General,  he  and  those 
who  remained  with  him  should  be  provided  with  forage 
and  provisions  —  should  be  unmolested,  and  allowed  to  re- 
join the  main  body  in  perfect  safety,  or  go  whitherso- 
ever they  pleased.  He  was  thanked,  as  he  merited,  for 
those  very  kind  offers,  which  we  did  not  wish,  however, 
to  profit  by. 

Little  by  little  the  health  of  the  General  was  re-estab- 
lished, and  the  army  demonstrated  its  joy  by  bonfires  all 
over  the  camp,  and  by  salvos,  which  it  was  impossible  to 
prevent.  Never  was  seen  testimony  of  love  so  universal 
or  so  flattering.  The  King  was  much  concerned  at  the 
illness  of  the  Mare"chal;  all  the  Court  was  infinitely 
touched  by  it.  M.  de  Lorges  was  not  less  loved  by  it 
than  by  the  troops.  When  able  to  support  the  fatigues  of 
the  journey,  he  was  removed  in  a  coach  to  Philipsburg, 
where  he  was  joined  by  the  Mare"chale,  who  had  come 
there  to  meet  him.  The  next  day  he  went  to  Landau, 
and  I,  who  formed  one  of  his  numerous  and  distinguished 
escort,  accompanied  him  there,  and  then  returned  to  the 
army,  which  was  placed  under  the  command  of  the  Mare"- 
chal  de  Joyeuse. 

We  found  it  at  about  three  leagues  from  Ketsch,  its 
right  at  Roth,  and  its  left  at  Waldsdorff.  We  learned  that 
Mare"chal  de  Joyeuse  had  lost  a  good  occasion  of  fighting 
the  enemy;  but  as  I  was  not  in  camp  at  the  time,  I  will 
say  no  more  of  the  matter.  Our  position  was  not  good: 
Schwartz  was  on  our  left,  and  the  Prince  of  Baden  on  our 
right,  hemming  us  in,  as  it  were,  between  them.  We  had 
no  forage,  while  they  had  abundance  of  everything,  and 
were  able  to  procure  all  they  wanted.  There  was  a  con- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  85 

test  who  should  decamp  the  last.  All  our  communications 
were  cut  off  with  Philipsburg,  so  that  we  could  not  repass 
the  Rhine  under  the  protection  of  that  place.  To  get  out 
of  our  position,  it  was  necessary  to  defile  before  our  ene- 
mies into  the  plain  of  Hockenun,  and  this  was  a  delicate 
operation.  The  most  annoying  circumstance  was,  that  M. 
de  Joyeuse  would  communicate  with  nobody,  and  was  so 
ill-tempered  that  none  dared  to  speak  to  him.  At  last  he 
determined  upon  his  plans,  and  I  was  of  the  detachment  by 
which  they  were  to  be  carried  out.  We  were  sent  to  Man- 
heim  to  see  if  out  of  the  ruins  of  that  place  (burned  in  1688 
by  M.  de  Louvois)  sufficient  materials  could  be  found  to 
construct  bridges,  by  which  we  might  cross  the  Rhine 
there.  We  found  that  the  bridges  could  be  made,  and 
returned  to  announce  this  to  M.  de  Joyeuse.  Accordingly 
on  the  2oth  of  July,  the  army  put  itself  in  movement.  The 
march  was  made  in  the  utmost  confusion.  Everything 
was  in  disorder;  the  infantry  and  cavalry  were  huddled 
together  pellmell ;  no  commands  could  be  acted  upon,  and 
indeed  the  whole  army  was  so  disorganized  that  it  could 
have  been  easily  beaten  by  a  handful  of  men.  In  effect, 
the  enemy  at  last  tried  to  take  advantage  of  our  confusion, 
by  sending  a  few  troops  to  harass  us.  But  it  was  too  late ; 
we  had  sufficiently  rallied  to  be  able  to  turn  upon  them, 
and  they  narrowly  escaped  falling  into  our  hands.  We 
encamped  that  night  in  the  plain  on  the  banks  of  the 
Necker  —  our  rear  at  Manheim,  and  our  left  at  Secken- 
heim,  while  waiting  for  the  remainder  of  the  army,  still 
very  distant.  Indeed,  so  great  had  been  the  confusion, 
that  the  first  troops  arrived  at  one  o'clock  at  night,  and 
the  last  late  in  the  morning  of  the  next  day. 

I  thought  that  our  headquarters  were  to  be  in  this 
village  of  Seckenheim,  and,  in  company  with  several  offi- 
cers, took  possession  of  a  large  house  and  prepared  to 
pass  the  night  there.  While  we  were  resting  from  the 
fatigues  of  the  day  we  heard  a  great  noise,  and  soon 
after  a  frightful  uproar.  It  was  caused  by  a  body  of 
our  men,  who,  searching  for  water,  had  discovered  this 
village,  and  after  having  quenched  their  thirst  had,  under 
the  cover  of  thick  darkness,  set  themselves  to  pillage,  to 
violate,  to  massacre,  and  to  commit  all  the  horrors 


86  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

inspired  by  the  most  unbridled  license.  La  Bretesche,  a 
lieutenant-general,  declared  to  me  that  he  had  never  seen 
anything  like  it,  although  he  had  several  times  been  at 
pillages  and  sackings.  He  was  very  grateful  that  he  had 
not  yielded  to  my  advice,  and  taken  off  his  wooden  leg 
to  be  more  at  his  ease;  for  in  a  short  time  we  ourselves 
were  invaded,  and  had  some  trouble  to  defend  ourselves. 
As  we  bore  the  livery  of  M.  de  Lorges,  we  were  re- 
spected, but  those  who  bore  that  of  M.  de  Joyeuse  were 
in  some  cases  severely  maltreated.  We  passed  the  rest 
of  the  night  as  well  as  we  could  in  this  unhappy  place, 
which  was  not  abandoned  by  our  soldiers  until  long  after 
there  was  nothing  more  to  find.  At  daylight  we  went  to 
the  camp. 

We  found  the  army  beginning  to  move:  it  had  passed 
the  night  as  well  as  it  could  without  order,  the  troops 
constantly  arriving,  and  the  last  comers  simply  joining 
themselves  on  to  the  rest.  Our  camp  was  soon,  however, 
properly  formed  and  on  the  24th  of  July,  the  bridges  being 
ready,  all  the  army  crossed  the  Rhine,  without  any  at- 
tempt being  made  by  the  enemy  to  follow  us.  On  the 
day  after,  the  Mare"chal  de  Joyeuse  permitted  me  to  go 
to  Landau,  where  I  remained  with  the  Mare*chal  and  the 
Mare"chale  de  Lorges  until  the  General  was  again  able  to 
place  himself  at  the  head  of  his  army. 

Nothing  of  importance  was  done  by  our  other  armies; 
but  in  Flanders  an  interesting  adventure  occurred.  The 
Prince  of  Orange,  after  playing  a  fine  game  of  chess  with 
our  army,  suddenly  invested  Namur  with  a  large  force, 
leaving  the  rest  of  his  troops  under  the  command  of 
M.  de  Vaudemont.  The  Mare*chal  de  Villeroy,  who  had  the 
command  of  our  army  in  Flanders,  at  once  pressed  upon 
M.  de  Vaudemont,  who,  being  much  the  weaker  of  the 
two,  tried  hard  to  escape.  Both  felt  that  everything  was 
in  their  hands :  Vaudemont,  that  upon  his  safety  depended 
the  success  of  the  siege  of  Namur;  and  Villeroy,  that  to 
his  victory  was  attached  the  fate  of  the  Low  Countries, 
and  very  likely  a  glorious  peace,  with  all  the  personal 
results  of  such  an  event.  He  took  his  measures  so  well 
that  on  the  evening  of  the  1 3th  of  July  it  was  impossible  for 
M.  de  Vaudemont  to  escape  falling  into  his  hands  on  the 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  87 

i4th,  and  he  wrote  thus  to  the  King.  At  daybreak  on  the 
1 4th  M.  de  Villeroy  sent  word  to  M.  de  Maine  to  commence 
the  action.  Impatient  that  his  orders  were  not  obeyed, 
he  sent  again  five  or  six  times.  M.  de  Maine  wished  in 
the  first  instance  to  reconnoiter,  then  to  confess  himself, 
and  delayed  in  effect  so  long  that  M.  de  Vaudemont  was 
able  to  commence  his  retreat.  The  general  officers  cried 
out  at  this.  One  of  them  came  to  M.  de  Maine  and  re- 
minded him  of  the  repeated  orders  of  the  Marechal  de 
Villeroy,  represented  the  importance  of  victory,  and  the 
ease  with  which  it  could  be  obtained:  with  tears  in  his 
eyes  he  begged  M.  de  Maine  to  commence  the  attack. 
It  was  all  in  vain;  M.  de  Maine  stammered,  and  could 
not  be  prevailed  upon  to  charge,  and  so  allowed  M.  de 
Vaudemont's  army  to  escape,  when  by  a  single  move- 
ment it  might  have  been  entirely  defeated. 

All  our  army  was  in  despair,  and  officers  and  soldiers 
made  no  scruple  of  expressing  their  anger  and  contempt. 
M.  de  Villeroy,  more  outraged  than  anybody  else,  was 
yet  too  good  a  courtier  to  excuse  himself  at  the  expense 
of  M.  de  Maine.  He  simply  wrote  to  the  King,  that  he 
had  been  deceived  in  those  hopes  of  success  which  ap- 
peared certain  the  day  before,  entered  into  no  further 
details,  and  resigned  himself  to  all  that  might  happen. 
The  King,  who  had  counted  the  hours  until  news  of  a 
great  and  decisive  victory  should  reach  him,  was  very 
much  surprised  when  this  letter  came:  he  saw  at  once 
that  something  strange  had  happened  of  which  no  intelli- 
gence had  been  sent :  he  searched  the  gazettes  of  Holland ; 
in  one  he  read  of  a  great  action  said  to  have  been  fought, 
and  in  which  M.  de  Maine  had  been  grievously  wounded ; 
in  the  next  the  news  of  the  action  was  contradicted,  and 
M.  de  Maine  was  declared  to  have  received  no  wounds 
at  all.  In  order  to  learn  what  had  really  taken  place, 
the  King  sent  for  Lavienne,  a  man  he  was  in  the  habit 
of  consulting  when  he  wanted  to  learn  things  no  one 
else  dared  to  tell  him. 

This  Lavienne  had  been  a  bath  keeper  much  in  vogue 
in  Paris,  and  had  become  bath  keeper  to  the  King  at  the 
time  of  his  amours.  He  had  pleased  by  his  drugs,  which 
had  frequently  put  the  King  in  a  state  to  enjoy  himself 


88  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

more,  and  this  road  had  led  Lavienne  to  become  one  of 
the  four  chief  valets  de  chambre.  He  was  a  very  honest 
man,  but  coarse,  rough,  and  free-spoken;  it  was  this  last 
quality  which  made  him  useful  in  the  manner  I  have 
before  mentioned.  From  Lavienne  the  King,  but  not 
without  difficulty,  learned  the  truth:  it  threw  him  into 
despair.  The  other  illegitimate  children  were  favorites 
with  him,  but  it  was  upon  M.  de  Maine  that  all  his  hopes 
were  placed.  They  now  fell  to  the  ground,  and  the  grief 
of  the  King  was  insupportable:  he  felt  deeply  for  that 
dear  son  whose  troops  had  become  the  laughingstock  of 
the  army;  he  felt  the  railleries  that,  as  the  gazettes 
showed  him,  foreigners  were  heaping  upon  his  forces; 
and  his  vexation  was  inconceivable. 

This  Prince,  so  equal  in  his  manners,  so  thoroughly 
master  of  his  lightest  movements,  even  upon  the  gravest 
occasions,  succumbed  under  this  event.  On  rising  from 
the  table  at  Marly  he  saw  a  servant  who,  while  taking 
away  the  dessert,  helped  himself  to  a  biscuit,  which  he 
put  in  his  pocket.  On  the  instant,  the  King,  forgets  his 
dignity,  and  cane  in  hand  runs  to  this  valet  (who  little 
suspected  what  was  in  store  for  him),  strikes  him,  abuses 
him,  and  breaks  the  cane  upon  his  body!  The  truth  is, 
'twas  only  a  reed,  and  snapped  easily.  However,  the 
stump  in  his  hand,  he  walked  away  like  a  man  quite  be- 
side himself,  continuing  to  abuse  this  valet,  and  entered 
Madame  de  Maintenon's  room,  where  he  remained  nearly 
an  hour.  Upon  coming  out  he  met  Father  la  Chaise. 
(<  My  father,"  said  tho  King  to  him,  in  a  very  loud  voice, 
<(  I  have  beaten  a  knave  and  broken  my  cane  over  his 
shoulders,  but  I  do  not  think  I  have  offended  God.*' 
Everybody  around  trembled  at  this  public  confession, 
and'  the  poor  priest  muttered  a  semblance  of  approval 
between  his  teeth,  to  avoid  irritating  the  King  more. 
The  noise  that  the  affair  made  and  the  terror  it  inspired 
may  be  imagined;  for  nobody  could  divine  for  some 
time  the  cause;  and  everybody  easily  understood  that 
that  which  had  appeared  could  not  be  the  real  one.  To 
finish  with  this  matter,  once  for  all,  let  us  add  here  the 
saying  of  M.  d'Elboeuf.  Courtier  though  he  was,  the 
upward  flight  of  the  illegitimate  children  weighed  upon 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  89 

his  heart.  As  the  campaign  was  at  its  close  and  the 
princes  were  about  to  depart,  he  begged  M.  de  Maine 
before  everybody  to  say  where  he  expected  to  serve  dur- 
ing the  next  campaign,  because  wherever  it  might  be  he 
should  like  to  be  there  also.  After  being  pressed  to  say 
why,  he  replied  that  "with  him  one's  life  was  safe." 
This  pointed  remark  made  much  noise.  M.  de  Maine 
lowered  his  eyes,  and  did  not  reply  one  word.  As  for 
the  Mare"chal  de  Villeroy  he  grew  more  and  more  in 
favor  with  the  King  and  with  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
The  bitter  fruit  of  M.  de  Maine's  act  was  the  taking  of 
Namur,  which  capitulated  on  August,  4th,  1695.  The 
Mar6chal  de  Villeroy  in  turn  bombarded  Brussels,  which 
was  sorely  maltreated.  The  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers,  who 
had  defended  Namur,  was  made  duke,  and  those  who 
had  served  under  him  were  variously  rewarded.  This 
gave  occasion  for  the  Prince  of  Orange  to  say,  that  the 
King  recompensed  more  liberally  the  loss  of  a  place  than 
HE  could  the  conquest  of  one.  The  army  retired  into 
winter  quarters  at  the  end  of  October,  and  the  generals 
went  to  Paris. 

As  for  me,  I  remained  six  weeks  at  Landau  with  M. 
and  Madame  Lorges.  At  the  end  of  that  time,  the 
Mare"chal,  having  regained  his  health,  returned  to  the 
army,  where  he  was  welcomed  with  the  utmost  joy:  he 
soon  after  had  an  attack  of  apoplexy,  and,  by  not  at- 
tending to  his  malady  in  time  became  seriously  ill  again. 
When  a  little  recovered,  he  and  Madame  de  Lorges  set 
out  for  Vichy,  and  I  went  to  Paris. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  Abbe  de  Fenelon —  The  Jansenists  anfl  St.  Sulpice  —  Alliance 
with  Madame  Guyon — Preceptor  of  the  Royal  Children — Ac- 
quaintance with  Madame  de  Maintenon  —  Appointment  to  Cambrai 
—  Disclosure  of  Madame  Guyon' s  Doctrines — Her  Disgrace  — 
Bossuet  and  Fenelon  —  Two  Rival  Books  —  Disgrace  of  Fenelon. 

BEFORE  speaking  of  what  happened  at  Court  after  my 
return,  it  will  be  necessary  to  record  what  had  oc- 
curred there  during  the  campaign. 

M.  de  Brias,  Archbishop  of  Cambrai,  had  died,  and  the 
King  had  given  that  valuable  preferment  to  the  Abbe*  de 
Fe*nelon,  preceptor  of  the  children  of  France.  Fe'nelon 
was  a  man  of  quality,  without  fortune, —  whom  the  con- 
sciousness of  wit  —  of  the  insinuating  and  captivating 
kind  —  united  with  much  ability,  gracefulness  of  intellect, 
and  learning,  inspired  with  ambition.  He  had  been  long 
going  about  from  door  to  door,  knocking  for  admission, 
but  without  success.  Piqued  against  the  Jesuits,  to  whom 
he  had  addressed  himself  at  first,  as  holding  all  favors  in 
their  hands,  and  discouraged  because  unable  to  succeed 
in  that  quarter,  he  turned  next  to  the  Jansenists,  to  con- 
sole himself  by  the  reputation  he  hoped  he  should  derive 
from  them,  for  the  loss  of  those  gifts  of  fortune  which 
hitherto  had  despised  him. 

He  remained  a  considerable  time  undergoing  the  proc- 
ess of  initiation,  and  succeeded  at  last  in  being  of  the 
private  parties  that  some  of  the  important  Jansenists 
then  held  once  or  twice  a  week  at  the  house  of  the 
Duchess  de  Brancas.  I  know  not  if  he  appeared  too 
clever  for  them,  or  if  he  hoped  elsewhere  for  better 
things  than  he  could  get  among  people  who  had  only 
sores  to  share ;  but  little  by  little  his  intimacy  with  them 
cooled;  and  by  dint  of  turning  around  Saint  Sulpice,  he 
succeeded  in  forming  another  connection  there,  upon 
which  he  built  greater  expectations.  This  society  of 
priests  was  beginning  to  distinguish  itself,  and  from  a 
(90) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE    DUKE    OF    SAINT-SIMON         91 

seminary  of  a  Paris  parish  to  extend  abroad.  Ignorance, 
the  minuteness  of  their  practices,  the  absence  of  all 
patrons  and  of  members  at  all  distinguished  in  any  way, 
inspired  them  with  a  blind  obedience  to  Rome  and  to  all 
its  maxims;  with  a  great  aversion  for  everything  that 
passed  for  Jansenism,  and  made  them  so  dependent  upon 
the  bishops  that  they  began  to  be  considered  an  acquisi- 
tion in  many  dioceses.  They  appeared  a  middle  party, 
very  useful  to  the  prelates;  who  equally  feared  the 
Court,  on  account  of  suspicions  of  doctrine,  and  the 
Jesuits:  for  as  soon  as  the  latter  had  insinuated  them- 
selves into  the  good  graces  of  the  prelates,  they  imposed 
their  yoke  upon  them,  or  ruined  them  hopelessly;  thus 
the  Sulpicians  grew  apace.  None  among  them  could 
compare  in  any  way  with  the  Abbe"  de  Fe"nelon;  so  that 
he  was  able  easily  to  play  first  fiddle,  and  to  make  him- 
self protectors  who  were  interested  in  advancing  him,  in 
order  that  they  might  be  protected  in  turn.  His  piety, 
which  was  all  things  to  all  men,  and  his  doctrine  that  he 
formed  upon  theirs  (abjuring  as  it  were,  in  whispers, 
the  impurities  he  might  have  contracted  among  those  he 
had  abandoned) — the  charms,  the  graces,  the  sweetness, 
the  insinuation  of  his  mind,  rendered  him  a  dear  friend 
to  this  new  congregation,  and  procured  for  him  what  he 
had  long  sought, —  people  upon  whom  he  could  lean, 
and  who  could  and  would  serve  him.  While  waiting 
opportunities,  he  carefully  courted  these  people,  without 
thinking,  however,  of  positively  joining  them,  his  views 
being  more  ambitious;  so  that  he  ever  sought  to  make 
new  acquaintances  and  friends.  His  was  a  coquettish 
mind,  which  from  people  the  most  influential  down  to  the 
workman  and  the  lackey  sought  appreciation  and  was 
determined  to  please;  and  his  talents  for  this  work  per- 
fectly seconded  his  desires. 

At  this  time,  and  while  still  obscure,  he  heard  speak  of 
Madame  Guyon,  who  has  since  made  so  much  noise  in 
the  world,  and  who  is  too  well  known  to  need  that  I 
should  dwell  upon  her  here.  He  saw  her.  There  was 
an  interchange  of  pleasure  between  their  minds.  Their 
SUBLIMES  amalgamated.  I  know  not  if  they  understood 
each  other  very  clearly  in  that  system,  and  that  new 


92  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

tonguq  which  they  hatched  subsequently,  but  they  per- 
suaded themselves  they  did,  and  friendship  grew  up  be- 
tween them.  Although  more  known  than  he,  Madame 
Guyon  was  nevertheless  not  much  known,  and  their 
intimacy  was  not  perceived,  because  nobody  thought  of 
them;  Saint  Sulpice  even  was  ignorant  of  what  was 
going  on. 

The  Due  de  Beauvilliers  became  Governor  of  the 
children  of  France  almost  in  spite  of  himself,  without 
having  thought  of  it.  He  had  to  choose  a  preceptor  for 
Monseigneur  le  Due  de  Bourgogne.  He  addressed  him- 
self to  Saint  Sulpice,  where  for  a  long  time  he  had  con- 
fessed, for  he  liked  and  protected  it.  He  had  heard 
speak  of  Fe"nelon  with  eulogy :  the  Sulpicians  vaunted  his 
piety,  his  intelligence,  his  knowledge,  his  talents;  at  last 
they  proposed  him  for  preceptor.  The  Due  de  Beau- 
villiers saw  him,  was  charmed  with  him,  and  appointed 
him  to  the  office. 

As  soon  as  installed,  Fe"nelon  saw  of  what  importance 
it  would  be  to  gain  the  entire  favor  of  the  Due  de  Beau- 
villiers, and  of  his  brother-in-law  the  Due  de  Chevreuse, 
both  very  intimate  friends,  and  both  in  the  highest  con- 
fidence of  the  King  and  Madame  de  Maintenon.  This 
was  his  first  care,  and  he  succeeded  beyond  his  hopes, 
becoming  the  master  of  their  hearts  and  minds,  and  the 
director  of  their  consciences.  Madame  de  Maintenon 
dined  regularly  once  a  week  at  the  house  of  one  or  other 
of  the  two  dukes,  fifth  of  a  little  party,  composed  of 
the  two  sisters  and  the  two  husbands,  with  a  bell  upon 
the  table,  in  order  to  dispense  with  servants  in  waiting, 
and  to  be  able  to  talk  without  restraint.  Fe"nelon  was 
at  last  admitted  to  this  sanctuary,  at  foot  of  which  all 
the  Court  was  prostrated.  He  was  almost  as  successful 
with  Madame  de  Maintenon  as  he  had  been  with  the 
two  dukes.  His  spirituality  enchanted  her:  the  Court 
soon  perceived  the  giant  strides  of  the  fortunate  Abbe", 
and  eagerly  courted  him.  But,  desiring  to  be  free  and 
entirely  devoted  to  his  great  object,  he  kept  himself 
aloof  from  their  flatteries  —  made  for  himself  a  shield 
with  his  modesty  and  his  duties  of  preceptor — and  thus 
rendered  himself  still  more  dear  to  the  persons  he  had 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  93 

captivated,  and  that  he  had  so  much  interest  in  retaining 
in  that  attachment. 

Among  these  cares  he  forgot  not  his  dear  Madame 
Guyon ;  he  had  already  vaunted  her  to  the  two  Dukes  and 
to  Madame  de  Maintenon.  He  had  even  introduced  her 
to  them,  but  as  though  with  difficulty  and  for  a  few 
moments,  as  a  woman  all  in  God,  whose  humility  and 
whose  love  of  contemplation  and  solitude  kept  her  within 
the  strictest  limits,  and  whose  fear,  above  all,  was  that 
she  should  become  known.  The  tone  of  her  mind  pleased 
Madame  de  Maintenon  extremely;  her  reserve,  mixed 
with  delicate  flatteries,  won  upon  her.  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon  wished  to  hear  her  talk  upon  matters  of  piety; 
with  difficulty  she  consented  to  speak.  She  seemed  to 
surrender  herself  to  the  charms  and  to  the  virtue  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  and  Madame  de  Maintenon  fell 
into  the  net  so  skillfully  prepared  for  her. 

Such  was  the  situation  of  F6nelon  when  he  became 
Archbishop  of  Cambrai;  increasing  the  admiration  in 
which  he  was  held  by  taking  no  step  to  gain  that  great 
benefice.  He  had  taken  care  not  to  seek  to  procure 
himself  Cambrai;  the  least  spark  of  ambition  would  have 
destroyed  all  his  edifice;  and,  moreover,  it  was  not  Cam- 
brai that  he  coveted. 

Little  by  little  he  appropriated  to  himself  some  dis- 
tinguished sheep  of  the  small  flock  Madame  Guyon  had 
gathered  together.  He  only  conducted  them,  however, 
under  the  direction  of  that  prophetess,  and  everything 
passed  with  a  secrecy  and  mystery  that  gave  additional 
relish  to  the  manna  distributed. 

Cambrai  was  a  thunderbolt  for  this  little  flock.  It 
was  the  archbishopric  of  Paris  they  wished.  Cambrai 
they  looked  upon  with  disdain  as  a  country  diocese,  the 
residence  in  which  (impossible  to  avoid  from  time  to 
time)  would  deprive  them  of  their  pastor.  Their  grief 
was  then  profound  at  what  the  rest  of  the  world  took 
for  a  piece  of  amazing  luck,  and  the  Countess  of  Guiche 
was  so  affected  as  to  be  unable  to  hide  her  tears.  The 
new  prelate  had  not  neglected  such  of  his  brethren  as 
made  the  most  figure:  they,  tn  turn,  considered  it  a  dis- 
tinction to  command  his  regard.  Saint  Cyr,  that  spot 


94  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

so  valuable  and  so  inaccessible,  was  the  place  chosen  for 
his  consecration;  and  M.  de  Meaux,  dictator  then  of  the 
episcopacy  and  of  doctrine,  consecrated  him.  The  chil- 
dren of  France  were  among  the  spectators,  and  Madame 
de  Maintenon  was  present  with  her  little  court  of  famil- 
iars. No  others  were  invited;  the  doors  were  closed  to 
those  who  sought  to  pay  their  court. 

The  new  archbishop  of  Cambrai,  gratified  with  his  in- 
fluence over  Madame  de  Maintenon  and  with  the  advan- 
tages it  had  brought  him,  felt  that  unless  he  became 
completely  master  of  her,  the  hopes  he  still  entertained 
could  not  be  satisfied.  But  there  was  a  rival  in  his  way 
—  Godet,  Bishop  of  Chartres,  who  was  much  in  the 
confidence  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and  had  long  dis- 
courses with  her  at  Saint  Cyr.  As  he  was,  however,  of 
a  very  ill  figure,  had  but  little  support  at  Court,  and  ap- 
peared exceedingly  simple,  M.  de  Cambrai  believed  he 
could  easily  overthrow  him.  To  do  this,  he  determined 
to  make  use  of  Madame  Guyon,  whose  new  spirituality 
had  already  been  so  highly  relished  by  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon.  He  persuaded  this  latter  to  allow  Madame  Guyon 
to  enter  Saint  Cyr,  where  they  could  discourse  together 
much  more  at  their  ease  than  at  the  Hotel  de  Chevreuse 
or  Beauvilliers.  Madame  Guyon  went  accordingly  to 
Saint  Cyr  two  or  three  times.  Soon  after,  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  who  relished  her  more  and  more,  made  her 
sleep  there,  and  their  meetings  grew  longer.  Madame 
Guyon  admitted  that  she  sought  persons  proper  to  be- 
come her  disciples,  and  in  a  short  time  she  formed  a 
little  flock,  whose  maxims  and  language  appeared  very 
strange  to  all  the  rest  of  the  house,  and,  above  all,  to 
M.  de  Chartres.  That  prelate  was  not  so  simple  as  M. 
de  Cambrai  imagined.  Profound  theologian  and  scholar, 
pious,  disinterested,  and  of  rare  probity,  he  could  be,  if 
necessary,  a  most  skillful  courtier;  but  he  rarely  exerted 
this  power,  for  the  favor  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  suf- 
ficed him  of  itself.  As  soon  as  he  got  scent  of  this 
strange  doctrine,  he  caused  two  ladies,  upon  whom  he 
could  count,  to  be  admitted  to  Saint  Cyr,  as  if  to  become 
disciples  of  Madame  Guyon.  He  gave  them  full  instruc- 
tions, and  they  played  their  parts  to  perfection.  In  the 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  95 

first  place  they  appeared  to  be  ravished,  and  by  degrees 
enchanted,  with  the  new  doctrine.  Madame  Guyon,  pleased 
with  this  fresh  conquest,  took  the  ladies  into  her  most 
intimate  confidence  in  order  to  gain  them  entirely.  They 
communicated  everything  to  M.  de  Chartres,  who  quietly 
looked  on,  allowed  things  to  take  their  course,  and,  when 
he  believed  the  right  moment  had  arrived,  disclosed  all  he 
had  learned  to  Madame  de  Maintenon.  She  was  strangely 
surprised  when  she  saw  the  extraordinary  drift  of  the 
new  doctrine.  Troubled  and  uncertain,  she  consulted 
with  M.  de  Cambrai,  who,  not  suspecting  she  had  been 
so  well  instructed,  became,  when  he  discovered  it,  em- 
barrassed, and  thus  augmented  her  suspicions. 

Suddenly  Madame  Guyon  was  driven  away  from  St. 
Cyr,  and  prohibited  from  spreading  her  doctrine  else- 
where. But  the  admiring  disciples  she  had  made  still 
gathered  round  her  in  secret,  and  this  becoming  known, 
she  was  ordered  to  leave  Paris.  She  feigned  obedience, 
but  in  effect  went  no  farther  than  the  Faubourg  St. 
Antoine,  where,  with  great  secrecy,  she  continued  to 
receive  her  flock.  But  being  again  detected,  she  was 
sent,  without  further  parley,  to  the  Bastile,  well  treated 
there,  but  allowed  to  see  nobody,  not  even  to  write. 
Before  being  arrested,  however,  she  had  been  put  into 
the  hands  of  M.  de  Meaux,  who  used  all  his  endeavors 
to  change  her  sentiments.  Tired  at  last  of  his  sermons, 
she  feigned  conviction,  signed  a  recantation  of  her  opin- 
ions, and  was  set  at  liberty.  Yet,  directly  after,  she 
held  her  secret  assemblies  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Antoine, 
and  it  was  in  consequence  of  this  abuse  of  freedom  that 
she  was  arrested.  These  adventures  bring  me  far  into 
the  year  1696,  and  the  sequel  extends  into  the  following 
year.  Let  us  finish  this  history  at  once,  and  return  after- 
ward to  what  happened  meanwhile. 

Monsieur  de  Cambrai,  stunned  but  not  overpowered  by 
the  reverse  he  had  sustained,  and  by  his  loss  of  favor 
with  Madame  de  Maintenon,  stood  firm  in  his  stirrups. 
After  Madame  Guyon's  abuse  of  her  liberty,  and  the 
conferences  of  Issy,  he  bethought  himself  of  confess- 
ing to  M.  de  Meaux,  by  which  celebrated  trick  he  hoped 
to  close  that  prelate's  mouth.  These  circumstances  induced 


96  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

M.  de  Meaux  to  take  pen  in  hand,  in  order  to  expose  to 
the  public  the  full  account  of  this  affair,  and  of  Madame 
Guyon's  doctrine;  and  he  did  so  in  a  work  under  the 
title  of  *  Instruction  sur  les  £tats  d'Oraison* 

While  the  book  was  yet  unpublished,  M.  de  Cambrai 
was  shown  a  copy.  He  saw  at  once  the  necessity  of 
writing  another  to  ward  off  the  effect  of  such  a  blow. 
He  must  have  had  a  great  deal  of  matter  already  pre- 
pared, otherwise  the  diligence  he  used  would  be  incred- 
ible. Before  M.  de  Meaux's  book  was  ready,  M.  de 
Cambrai's,  entitled  <(  Maximes  des  Saints*  was  published 
and  distributed.  M.  de  Chevreuse,  who  corrected  the 
proofs,  installed  himself  at  the  printer's,  so  as  to  see  every 
sheet  as  soon  as  printed. 

This  book,  written  in  the  strangest  manner,  did  M.  de 
Cambrai  little  service.  If  people  were  offended  to  find 
it  supported  upon  no  authority,  they  were  much  more  so 
with  its  confused  and  embarrassed  style,  its  precision  so 
restrained  and  so  decided,  its  barbarous  terms  which 
seemed  as  though  taken  from  a  foreign  tongue, —  above 
all,  its  high-flown  and  far-fetched  thoughts,  which  took 
one's  breath  away,  as  in  the  too  subtle  air  of  the  middle 
region.  Nobody,  except  the  theologians,  understood  it, 
and  even  they  not  without  reading  it  three  or  four  times. 
Connoisseurs  found  in  it  a  pure  quietism,  which,  al- 
though wrapped  up  in  fine  language,  was  clearly  visible. 
I  do  not  give  my  own  judgment  of  things  so  much 
beyond  me  but  repeat  what  was  said  everywhere.  Noth- 
ing else  was  talked  about,  even  by  the  ladies;  and  a 
propos  of  this,  the  saying  of  Madame  de  SeVigne*  was  re- 
vived: (<  Make  religion  a  little  more  palpable;  it  evapo- 
rates by  dint  of  being  overrefined. )} 

Not  a  word  was  heard  in  praise  of  the  book;  every- 
body was  opposed  to  it,  and  it  was  the  means  of  making 
Madame  de  Maintenon  more  unfavorable  to  M.  de  Cam- 
brai than  ever.  He  sent  the  King  a  copy,  without  in- 
forming her.  This  completed  her  annoyance  against 
him.  M.  de  Cambrai,  finding  his  book  so  ill  received  by  the 
Court  and  by  the  prelates,  determined  to  try  and  support  it 
on  the  authority  of  Rome,  a  step  quite  opposed  to  our 
manners.  In  the  meantime,  M.  de  Meaux's  book 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  97 

appeared  in  two  volumes  octavo,  well  written,  clear,  modest, 
and  supported  upon  the  authority  of  the  Scriptures.  It 
was  received  with  avidity,  and  absolutely  devoured. 
There  was  not  a  person  at  the  Court  who  did  not  take 
a  pleasure  in  reading  it,  so  that  for  a  long  time  it  was 
the  common  subject  of  conversation  of  the  Court  and  of 
the  town. 

These  two  books,  so  opposed  in  doctrine  and  in  style, 
made  such  a  stir  on  every  side  that  the  King  interposed, 
and  forced  M.  de  Cambrai  to  submit  his  work  to  an 
examination  by  a  council  of  prelates,  whom  he  named. 
M.  de  Cambrai  asked  permission  to  go  to  Rome  to  de- 
fend his  cause  in  person,  but  this  the  King  refused.  He 
sent  his  book,  therefore,  to  the  Pope,  and  had  the  annoy- 
ance to  receive  a  dry,  cold  reply,  and  to  see  M.  de 
Meaux's  book  triumph.  His  good  fortune  was  in  effect 
at  an  end.  He  remained  at  Court  some  little  time,  but 
the  King  was  soon  irritated  against  him,  sent  him  off 
posthaste  to  Paris,  and  from  there  to  his  diocese,  whence 
he  has  never  returned.  He  left  behind  him  a  letter  for 
one  of  his  friends,  M.  de  Chevreuse  it  was  generally  be- 
lieved, which  immediately  after  became  public.  It  ap- 
peared like  the  manifesto  of  a  man  who  disgorges  his 
bile  and  restrains  himself  no  more,  because  he  has  noth- 
ing more  to  hope.  The  letter,  bold  and  bitter  in  style, 
was  besides  so  full  of  ability  and  artifice,  that  it  was 
extremely  pleasant  to  read,  without  finding  approvers ;  so 
true  it  is  that  a  wise  and  disdainful  silence  is  difficult 
to  keep  under  reverses. 
7 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Death  of  Archbishop  Harlay  —  Scene  at  Conflans  —  «  The  Good  Lan- 
gres^  —  A  Scene  at  Marly  —  Princesses  Smoke  Pipes!  —  Fortunes 
of  Cavoye  —  Mile,  de  Coetlogon  —  Madame  de  Guise  —  Madame  de 
Miramion — Madame  de  S6vign6 —  Father  Seraphin  —  An  Angry 
Bishop  —  Death  of  La  Bruyere  —  Burglary  by  a  Duke  —  Proposed 
Marriage  of  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  —  The  Duchess  de  Lude  —  A  Dan- 
gerous Lady  —  Madame  d'O  —  Arrival  of  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne. 

To  RETURN  now  to  the  date  from  which  I  started.  On 
the  6th  of  August,  1695,  Harlay,  Archbishop  of  Paris, 

died  of  epilepsy  at  Conflans.  He  was  a  prelate  of  pro- 
found knowledge  and  ability,  very  amiable,  and  of  most 
gallant  manners.  For  some  time  past  he  had  lost  favor 
with  the  King  and  with  Madame  de  Maintenon,  for  op- 
posing the  declaration  of  her  marriage —  of  which  mar- 
riage he  had  been  one  of  the  three  witnesses.  The 
clergy,  who  perceived  his  fall,  and  to  whom  envy  is  not 
unfamiliar,  took  pleasure  in  revenging  themselves  upon 
M.  de  Paris,  for  the  domination,  although  gentle  and 
kindly  he  had  exercised.  Unaccustomed  to  this  decay  of 
his  power,  all  the  graces  of  his  mind  and  body  withered. 
He  could  find  no  resources  but  to  shut  himself  up  with 
his  DEAR  friend  the  Duchess  de  Lesdiguieres,  whom  he 
saw  every  day  of  his  life,  either  at  her  own  house  or  at 
Conflans,  where  he  had  laid  out  a  delicious  garden,  kept 
so  strictly  clean,  that  as  the  two  walked,  gardeners  fol- 
lowed at  a  distance  and  effaced  their  footprints  with 
rakes.  The  vapors  seized  the  Archbishop,  and  turned 
themselves  into  slight  attacks  of  epilepsy.  He  felt  this, 
but  prohibited  his  servants  to  send  for  help,  when  they 
should  see  him  attacked;  and  he  was  only  too  well 
obeyed.  The  Duchess  de  Lesdiguieres  never  slept  at 
Conflans,  but  she  went  there  every  afternoon,  and  was 
always  alone  with  him.  On  the  6th  of  August,  he  passed 
the  morning,  as  usual,  until  dinner  time ;  his  steward  came 
there  to  him,  and  found  him  in  his  cabinet,  fallen  back 

(98) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON        99 

upon  a  sofa ;  he  was  dead.  The  celebrated  Jesuit  Father 
Gaillard  preached  his  funeral  sermon,  and  carefully 
eluded  pointing  the  moral  of  the  event.  The  King  and 
Madame  de  Maintenon  were  much  relieved  by  the  loss  of 
M.  de  Paris.  Various  places  he  had  held  were  at  once 
distributed.  His  archbishopric  and  his  nomination  to  the 
cardinalship  required  more  discussion.  The  King  learned 
the  news  of  the  death  of  M.  de  Paris  on  the  6th.  On 
the  8th,  in  going  as  usual  to  his  cabinet,  he  went  straight 
up  to  the  Bishop  of  Orleans,  led  him  to  the  Cardinals 
de  Bouillon  and  de  Fursternberg,  and  said  to  them:  — 
"Gentlemen,  I  think  you  will  thank  me  for  giving  you 
an  associate  like  M.  d'Orleans,  to  whom  I  give  my  nom- 
ination to  the  cardinalship. >}  At  this  word  the  Bishop, 
who  little  expected  such  a  scene,  fell  at  the  King's  feet 
and  embraced  his  knees.  He  was  a  man  whose  face  spoke 
at  once  of  the  virtue  and  benignity  he  possessed.  In 
youth  he  was  so  pious,  that  young  and  old  were  afraid 
to  say  a  foul  word  in  his  presence.  Although  very  rich, 
he  appropriated  scarcely  any  of  his  wealth  to  himself, 
but  gave  it  away  for  good  works.  The  modesty  and  the  sim- 
plicity with  which  M.  d'Orleans  sustained  his  nomination, 
increased  the  universal  esteem  in  which  he  was  held. 

The  archbishopric  of  Paris  was  given  to  a  brother  of 
the  Due  de  Noailles — the  Bishop  of  Chalons-sur-Marne  — 
M.  de  Noailles  thus  reaping  the  fruit  of  his  wise  sacrifice  to 
M.  de  Vendome,  before  related.  M.  de  Chalons  was  of 
singular  goodness  and  modesty.  He  did  not  wish  for 
this  preferment,  and  seeing  from  far  the  prospect  of  its 
being  given  to  him,  hastened  to  declare  himself  against 
the  Jesuits,  in  the  expectation  that  Pere  la  Chaise,  who 
was  of  them,  and  who  was  always  consulted  upon  these 
occasions,  might  oppose  him.  But  it  happened,  perhaps 
for  the  first  time,  that  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who 
felt  restrained  by  the  Jesuits,  did  not  consult  Pere  la 
Chaise,  and  the  preferment  was  made  without  his  knowl- 
edge, and  without  that  of  M.  de  Chalons.  The  affront 
was  a  violent  one,  and  the  Jesuits  never  forgave  the 
new  Archbishop:  he  was,  however,  so  little  anxious  for 
the  office,  that  it  was  only  after  repeated  orders  he  could 
be  made  to  accept  it. 


ioo  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

The  Bishop  of  Langres  also  died  about  this  time. 
He  was  a  true  gentleman,  much  liked,  and  called  <(  the 
good  Langres. w  There  was  nothing  bad  about  him, 
except  his  manners;  he  was  not  made  for  a  bishop  — 
gambled  very  much,  and  staked  high.  M.  de  Vendome 
and  others  won  largely  at  billiards  of  him,  two  or  three 
times.  He  said  no  word,  but,  on  returning  to  Langres, 
did  nothing  but  practice  billiards  in  secret  for  six  months. 
When  next  in  Paris,  he  was  again  asked  to  play,  and 
his  adversaries,  who  thought  him  as  unskillful  as  before, 
expected  an  easy  victory:  but,  to  their  astonishment, 
he  gained  almost  every  game,  won  back  much  more 
than  he  had  lost,  and  then  laughed  in  the  faces  of  his 
companions. 

I  paid  about  this  time,  my  first  journey  to  Marly,  and 
a  singular  scene  happened  there.  The  King  at  dinner, 
setting  aside  his  usual  gravity,  laughed  and  joked  very 
much  with  Madame  la  Duchess,  eating  olives  with  her 
in  sport,  and  thereby  causing  her  to  drink  more  than 
usual  —  which  he  also  pretended  to  do.  Upon  rising  from 
the  table  the  King,  seeing  the  Princess  de  Conti  look 
extremely  serious,  said,  dryly,  that  her  gravity  did  not 
accommodate  itself  to  their  drunkenness.  The  Princess, 
piqued,  allowed  the  King  to  pass  without  saying  any- 
thing; and  then,  turning  to  Madame  de  Chatillon,  said, 
in  the  midst  of  the  noise,  while  everybody  was  washing 
his  mouth,  that  she  <(  would  rather  be  grave  than  be  a 
wine-sack  *  (alluding  to  some  bouts  a  little  prolonged  that 
her  sister  had  recently  had). 

The  saying  was  heard  by  the  Duchess  de  Chartres, 
who  replied,  loud  enough  to  be  heard,  in  her  slow  and 
trembling  voice,  that  she  preferred  to  be  a  tt  wine-sack  * 
rather  than  a  <(  rag-sack*  (sac  it  guenilles) — by  which  she 
alluded  to  the  Clermont  and  La  Choin  adventure  I  have 
related  before. 

This  remark  was  so  cruel  that  it  met  with  no  reply; 
it  spread  through  Marly,  and  thence  to  Paris ;  and  Madame 
la  Duchess  who  had  the  art  of  writing  witty  songs,  made 
one  upon  this  theme.  The  Princess  de  Conti  was  in  de- 
spair, for  she  had  not  the  same  weapon  at  her  dis- 
posal. Monsieur  tried  to  reconcile  them — gave  them  a 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  101 

dinner  at  Meudon —  but  they  returned  from  it  as  they 
went. 

The  end  of  the  year  was  stormy  at  Marly.  One  even- 
ing, after  the  King  had  gone  to  bed,  and  while  Mon- 
seigneur  was  playing  in  the  saloon,  the  Duchess  de 
Chartres  and  Madame  la  Duchess  (who  were  bound  to- 
gether by  their  mutual  aversion  to  the  Princess  de  Conti) 
sat  down  to  a  supper  in  the  chamber  of  the  first  named. 
Monseigneur,  upon  retiring  late  to  his  own  room,  found 
them  smoking  with  pipes,  which  they  had  sent  for  from 
the  Swiss  Guards!  Knowing  what  would  happen  if  the 
smell  were  discovered,  he  made  them  leave  off,  but  the 
smoke  had  betrayed  them.  The  King  next  day  severely 
scolded  them,  at  which  the  Princess  de  Conti  triumphed. 
Nevertheless,  these  broils  multiplied,  and  the  King  at 
last  grew  so  weary  of  them  that  one  evening  he  called 
the  Princesses  before  him,  and  threatened  that  if  they 
did  not  improve,  he  would  banish  them  all  from  the 
Court.  The  measure  had  its  effect;  calm  and  decorum 
returned,  and  supplied  the  place  of  friendship. 

There  were  many  marriages  this  winter,  and  among 
them  one  very  strange  —  a  marriage  of  love,  between  a 
brother  of  Feuquiere's,  who  had  never  done  much,  and 
the  daughter  of  the  celebrated  Mignard,  first  painter  of 
his  time.  This  daughter  was  still  so  beautiful,  that  Bloin, 
chief  valet  of  the  King,  had  kept  her  for  some  time,  with 
the  knowledge  of  every  one,  and  used  his  influence  to 
make  the  King  sign  the  marriage  contract. 

There  are  in  all  Courts  persons  who,  without  wit  and 
without  distinguished  birth,  without  patrons,  or  service 
rendered,  pierce  into  the  intimacy  of  the  most  brilliant, 
and  succeed  at  last,  I  know  not  how,  in  forcing  the  world 
to  look  upon  them  as  somebody.  Such  a  person  was 
Cavoye.  Rising  from  nothing,  he  became  Grand  Mare"- 
chal  des  Logis  in  the  royal  household :  he  arrived  at  that 
office  by  a  perfect  romance.  He  was  one  of  the  best 
made  men  in  France,  and  was  much  in  favor  with  the 
ladies.  He  first  appeared  at  the  Court  at  a  time  when 
much  dueling  was  taking  place,  in  spite  of  the  edicts. 
Cavoye,  brave  and  skillful,  acquired  so  much  reputation 
in  this  particular,  that  the  name  of  <(  Brave  Cavoye }>  has 


102  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

stuck  to  him  ever  since.  An  ugly  but  very  good  creature, 
Mademoiselle  de  Coetlogon,  one  of  the  Queen's  waiting 
women,  fell  in  love  with  him,  even  to  madness.  She 
made  all  the  advances ;  but  Cavoye  treated  her  so  cruelly, 
nay,  sometimes  so  brutally,  that  (wonderful  to  say)  every- 
body pitied  her,  and  the  King  at  last  interfered,  and  com- 
manded him  to  be  more  humane.  Cavoye  went  to  the 
army;  the  poor  Coetlogon  was  in  tears  until  his  return. 
In  the  winter,  for  being  second  in  a  duel,  he  was  sent 
to  the  Bastile.  Then  the  grief  of  Coetlogon  knew  no 
bounds:  she  threw  aside  all  ornaments,  and  clad  herself 
as  meanly  as  possible;  she  begged  the  King  to  grant 
Cavoye  his  liberty,  and,  upon  the  King's  refusing,  quar- 
reled with  him  violently,  and  when  in  return  he  laughed 
at  her,  became  so  furious,  that  she  would  have  used  her 
nails,  had  he  not  been  too  wise  to  expose  himself  to 
them.  Then  she  refused  to  attend  to  her  duties,  would 
not  serve^  the  King,  saying,  that  he  did  not  deserve  it, 
and  grew  so  yellow  and  ill,  that  at  last  she  was  allowed 
to  visit  her  lover  at  the  Bastile.  When  he  was  liberated, 
her  joy  was  extreme,  she  decked  herself  out  anon,  but  it 
was  with  difficulty  that  she  consented  to  be  reconciled 
to  the  King. 

Cavoye  had  many  times  been  promised  an  appoint- 
ment, but  had  never  received  one  such  as  he  wished. 
The  office  of  grand  Mare"chal  des  Logis  had  just  become 
vacant:  the  King  offered  it  to  Cavoye,  but  on  condition 
that  he  should  marry  Mademoiselle  Coetlogon.  Cavoye 
sniffed  a  little  longer,  but  was  obliged  to  submit  to  this 
condition  at  last.  They  were  married,  and  she  has  still 
the  same  admiration  for  him,  and  it  is  sometimes  fine 
fun  to  see  the  caresses  she  gives  him  before  all  the 
world,  and  the  constrained  gravity  with  which  he  re- 
ceives them.  The  history  of  Cavoye  would  fill  a  volume, 
but  this  I  have  selected  suffices  for  its  singularity,  which 
assuredly  is  without  example. 

About  this  time  the  King  of  England  thought  matters 
were  ripe  for  an  attempt  to  reinstate  himself  upon  the 
throne.  The  Duke  of  Berwick  had  been  secretly  into 
England,  where  he  narrowly  escaped  being  arrested,  and 
upon  his  report  these  hopes  were  built.  Great  prep- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  103 

arations  were  made,  but  they   came   to  nothing,    as  was 
always  the  case  with  the  projects  of  this  unhappy  prince. 

Madame  de  Guise  died  at  this  time.  Her  father  was 
the  brother  of  Louis  XIII.,  and  she,  humpbacked  and 
deformed  to  excess,  had  married  the  last  Due  de  Guise, 
rather  than  not  marry  at  all.  During  all  their  lives,  she 
compelled  him  to  pay  her  all  the  deference  due  to  her 
rank.  At  table  he  stood  while  she  unfolded  her  napkin  and 
seated  herself,  and  did  not  sit  until  she  told  him  to  do 
so,  and  then  at  the  end  of  the  table.  This  form  was 
observed  every  day  of  their  lives.  She  was  equally  se- 
vere in  such  matters  of  etiquette  with  all  the  rest  of  the 
world.  She  would  keep  her  diocesan,  the  Bishop  of 
Seez,  standing  for  entire  hours,  while  she  was  seated 
in  her  armchair,  and  never  once  offered  him  a  seat 
even  in  the  corner.  She  was  in  other  things  an  entirely 
good  and  sensible  woman.  Not  until  after  her  death  was  it 
discovered  that  she  had  been  afflicted  for  a  long  time 
with  a  cancer,  which  appeared  as  though  about  to  burst. 
God  spared  her  this  pain. 

We  lost,  in  the  month  of  March,  Madame  de  Miramion, 
aged  sixty-six.  She  was  a  bourgeoise,  married,  and  in 
the  same  year  became  a  widow  —  very  rich,  young,  and 
beautiful.  Bussy  Rabutin,  so  known  by  his  (<  Histoire 
Amour euse  des  Gaules*  and  by  the  profound  disgrace  it 
drew  upon  him,  and  still  more  by  the  vanity  of  his  mind 
and  the  baseness  of  his  heart,  wished  absolutely  to  marry 
her,  and  actually  carried  her  off  to  a  chateau.  Upon 
arriving  at  the  place,  she  pronounced  before  everybody 
assembled  there  a  vow  of  chastity,  and  then  dared  Bussy 
to  do  his  worst.  He,  strangely  discomfited  by  this  action, 
at  once  set  her  at  liberty,  and  tried  to  accommodate  the 
affair.  From  that  moment  she  devoted  herself  entirely 
to  works  of  piety,  and  was  much  esteemed  by  the  King. 
She  was  the  first  woman  of  her  condition  who  wrote 
above  her  door,  ^Hdtel  de  Nesmond*  Everybody  cried 
out,  and  was  scandalized,  but  the  writing  remained,  and 
became  the  example  and  the  father  of  those  of  all  kinds 
which  little  by  little  have  inundated  Paris. 

Madame  de  Sevigne',  so  amiable  and  of  such  excellent 
company,  died  some  time  after  at  Grignan,  at  the  house 


104  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

of  her  daughter,  her  idol,  but  who  merited  little  to  be  so. 
I  was  very  intimate  with  the  young  Marquis  de  Grignan, 
her  grandson.  This  woman,  by  her  natural  graces,  the 
sweetness  of  her  wit  communicated  these  qualities  to 
those  who  had  them  not ;  she  was  besides  extremely  good, 
and  knew  thoroughly  many  things  without  ever  wishing 
to  appear  as  though  she  knew  anything. 

Father  Seraphin  preached  during  Lent  this  year  at  the 
Court.  His  sermons,  in  which  he  often  repeated  twice 
running  the  same  phrase,  were  much  in  vogue.  It  was 
from  him  that  came  the  saying,  w  Without  God  there  is 
no  wit. w  The  King  was  much  pleased  with  him,  and 
reproached  M.  de  Vendome  and  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld 
because  they  never  went  to  hear  his  sermons.  M.  de 
Vendome  replied  offhand,  that  he  did  not  care  to  go  to 
hear  a  man  who  said  whatever  he  pleased  without  allow- 
ing anybody  to  reply  to  him,  and  made  the  King  smile 
by  the  sally.  But  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld  treated  the 
matter  in  another  manner:  he  said  that  he  could  not  in- 
duce himself  to  go  like  the  merest  hanger-on  about  the 
Court,  and  beg  a  seat  of  the  officer  who  distributed  them, 
and  then  betake  himself  early  to  church  in  order  to  have 
a  good  one,  and  wait  about  in  order  to  put  himself 
where  it  might  please  that  officer  to  place  him.  Where- 
upon the  King  immediately  gave  him  a  fourth  seat  be- 
hind him,  by  the  side  of  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  so  that 
everywhere  he  is  thus  placed.  M.  d'Orleans  had  been  in 
the  habit  of  seating  himself  there  (although  his  right 
place  was  on  the  prie-Dieu ),  and  little  by  little  had  ac- 
customed himself  to  consider  it  as  his  proper  place. 
When  he  found  himself  driven  away,  he  made  a  great 
ado,  and,  not  daring  to  complain  to  the  King,  quarreled 
with  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld,  who,  until  then,  had  been 
one  of  his  particular  friends.  The  affair  soon  made  a 
great  stir;  the  friends  of  both  parties  mixed  themselves 
up  in  it.  The  King  tried  in  vain  to  make  M.  d'Orleans 
listen  to  reason;  the  prelate  was  inflexible,  and  when  he 
found  he  could  gain  nothing  by  clamor  and  complaint  he 
retired  in  high  dudgeon  into  his  diocese:  he  remained 
there  some  time,  and  upon  his  return  resumed  his  com- 
plaints with  more  determination  than  ever;  he  fell  at 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  105 

the  feet  of  the  king  protesting  that  he  would  rather  die 
than  see  his  office  degraded.  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld 
entreated  the  King  to  be  allowed  to  surrender  the  seat 
in  favor  of  M.  d'Orleans.  But  the  King  would  not 
change  his  decision ;  he  said  that  if  the  matter  were  to  be 
decided  between  M.  d'Orleans  and  a  lackey,  he  would 
give  the  seat  to  the  lackey  rather  than  to  M.  d'Orleans. 
Upon  this  the  prelate  returned  to  his  diocese,  which  he 
would  have  been  wiser  never  to  have  quitted  in  order 
to  obtain  a  place  which  did  not  belong  to  him. 

As  the  King  really  esteemed  M.  d'Orleans,  he  deter- 
mined to  appease  his  anger;  and  to  put  an  end  to  this  dis- 
pute, he  gave,  therefore,  the  bishopric  of  Metz  to  the 
nephew  of  M.  d'Orleans;  and  by  this  means  a  reconcili- 
ation was  established.  M.  d'Orleans  and  M.  de  la 
Rochefoucald  joined  hands  again,  and  the  King  looked 
on  delighted. 

The  public  lost  soon  after  a  man  illustrious  by  his 
genius,  by  his  style,  and  by  his  knowledge  of  men,  —  I 
mean  La  Bruyere,  who  died  of  apoplexy  at  Versailles, 
after  having  surpassed  Theophrastus  in  his  own  manner, 
and  after  painting,  in  the  new  characters,  the  men  of  our 
days  in  a  manner  inimitable.  He  was  besides  a  very 
honest  man,  of  excellent  breeding,  simple,  very  disin- 
terested, and  without  anything  of  the  pedant.  I  had 
sufficiently  known  him  to  regret  his  death,  and  the  works 
that  might  have  been  hoped  from  him. 

The  command  of  the  armies  was  distributed  in  the 
same  manner  as  before,  with  the  exception  that  M.  de 
Choiseul  had  the  army  of  the  Rhine  in  place  of  M.  de 
Lorges.  Everyone  set  out  to  take  the  field.  The  Due 
de  la  Feuillade  in  passing  by  Metz,  to  join  the  army  in 
Germany,  called  upon  his  uncle,  who  was  very  rich  and 
in  his  second  childhood.  La  Feuillade  thought  fit  to 
make  sure  of  his  uncle's  money  beforehand,  demanded 
the  key  of  the  cabinet  and  of  the  coffers,  broke  them 
open  upon  being  refused  by  the  servants,  and  took  away 
thirty  thousand  crowns  in  gold,  and  many  jewels,  leav- 
ing untouched  the  silver.  The  King,  who  for  a  long  time 
had  been  much  discontented  with  La  Feuillade  for  his 
debauches  and  his  negligence,  spoke  very  strongly  and 


106  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

very  openly  upon  this  strange  forestalling  of  inheritance. 
It  was  only  with  great  difficulty  he  could  be  persuaded 
not  to  strip  La  Feuillade  of  his  rank. 

Our  campaign  was  undistinguished  by  any  striking 
event.  From  June  to  September  of  this  year  (1696)  we 
did  little  but  subsist  and  observe,  after  which  we  recrossed 
the  Rhine  at  Philipsburg,  where  our  rear  guard  was 
slightly  inconvenienced  by  the  enemy.  In  Italy  there 
was  more  movement.  The  King  sought  to  bring  about 
peace  by  dividing  the  forces  of  his  enemies,  and  secretly 
entered  into  a  treaty  with  Savoy.  The  conditions  were, 
that  every  place  belonging  to  Savoy  which  had  been 
taken  by  our  troops  should  be  restored,  and  that  a  mar- 
riage should  take  place  between  Monseigneur  the  Due 
de  Bourgogne  and  the  daughter  of  the  Duke  of  Savoy, 
when  she  became  twelve  years  of  age.  In  the  mean- 
time she  was  to  be  sent  to  the  Court  of  France,  and 
preparations  were  at  once  made  there  to  provide  her  with 
a  suitable  establishment 

The  King  was  ill  with  an  anthrax  in  the  throat.  The 
eyes  of  all  Europe  were  turned  toward  him,  for  his 
malady  was  not  without  danger;  nevertheless  in  his  bed 
he  affected  to  attend  to  affairs  as  usual,  and  he  arranged 
there  with  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  scarcely  ever 
quitted  his  side,  the  household  of  the  Savoy  Princess. 
The  persons  selected  for  the  offices  in  that  household 
were  either  entirely  devoted  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  or 
possessed  of  so  little  wit  that  she  had  nothing  to  fear  from 
them.  A  selection  which  excited  much  envy  and  great 
surprise  was  that  of  the  Duchess  de  Lude  to  be  lady  of 
honor.  The  day  before  she  was  appointed,  Monsieur 
had  mentioned  her  name  in  sport  to  the  King.  <(Yes,w 
said  the  King,  (<she  would  be  the  best  woman  in  the 
world  to  teach  the  Princess  to  put  rouge  and  patches 
on  her  cheek,"  and  then,  being  more  devout  than  usual, 
he  said  other  things  as  bitter  and  marking  strong  aver- 
sion on  his  part  to  the  Duchess.  In  fact,  she  was  no 
favorite  of  his  nor  of  Madame  de  Maintenon;  and  this 
was  so  well  understood  that  the  surprise  of  Monsieur  and 
of  everybody  else  was  great,  upon  finding,  the  day  after 
this  discourse,  that  she  had  been  appointed  to  the  place. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  107 

The  cause  of  this  was  soon  learned.  The  Duchess  de 
Lude  coveted  much  to  be  made  lady  of  honor  to  the 
Princess,  but  knew  she  had  but  little  chance,  so  many 
others  more  in  favor  than  herself  being  in  the  field. 
Madame  de  Maintenon  had  an  old  servant  named  Nanon, 
who  had  been  with  her  from  the  time  of  her  early  days 
of  misery,  and  who  had  such  influence  with  her,  that  this 
servant  was  made  much  of  by  everybody  at  Court,  even 
by  the  ministers  and  the  daughters  of  the  King.  The 
Duchess  de  Lude  had  also  an  old  servant  who  was  on  good 
terms  with  the  other.  The  affair  therefore  was  not  diffi- 
cult. The  Duchess  de  Lude  sent  twenty  thousand  crowns 
to  Nanon,  and  on  the  very  evening  of  the  day  on  which 
the  King  had  spoken  to  Monsieur,  she  had  the  place. 
Thus  it  is!  A  Nanon  sells  the  most  important  and  the 
most  brilliant  offices,  and  a  duchess  of  high  birth  is  silly 
enough  to  buy  herself  into  servitude ! 

This  appointment,  excited  much  envy.  The  Mare*chale 
de  Rochefort,  who  had  expected  to  be  named,  made  a 
great  ado.  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  despised  her,  was 
piqued,  and  said  she  should  have  had  it  but  for  the  con- 
duct of  her  daughter.  This  was  a  mere  artifice ;  but  the 
daughter  was,  in  truth,  no  sample  of  purity.  She  had 
acted  in  such  a  manner  with  Blansac  that  he  was  sent  for 
from  the  army  to  marry  her,  and  on  the  very  night  of 
their  wedding  she  gave  birth  to  a  daughter.  She  was 
full  of  wit,  vivacity,  intrigue,  and  sweetness;  yet  most 
wicked,  false,  and  artificial  and  all  this  with  a  simplicity 
of  manner  that  imposed  even  upon  those  who  knew  her 
best.  More  than  gallant  while  her  face  lasted,  she  after- 
ward was  easier  of  access,  and  at  last  ruined  herself  for 
the  meanest  valets.  Yet,  notwithstanding  her  vices,  she 
was  the  prettiest  flower  of  the  Court  bunch,  and  had  her 
chamber  always  full  of  the  best  company:  she  was  also 
much  sought  after  by  the  three  daughters  of  the  King. 
Driven  away  from  the  Court,  she  was  after  much  suppli- 
cation recalled,  and  pleased  the  King  so  much  that 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  in  fear  of  her,  sent  her  away 
again.  But  to  go  back  again  to  the  household  of  the 
Princess  of  Savoy. 

Dangeau  was  made  chevalier  d'honneur.      He  owed  his 


io8  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

success  to  his  good  looks,  to  the  court  he  paid  to  the 
King's  mistresses,  to  his  skillfulness  at  play,  and  to  a 
lucky  stroke  of  fortune.  The  King  had  oftentimes  been 
importuned  to  give  him  a  lodging,  and  one  day,  joking 
with  him  upon  his  fancy  of  versifying,  proposed  to  him 
some  very  hard  rhymes,  and  promised  him  a  lodging  if 
he  filled  them  up  upon  the  spot.  Dangeau  accepted, 
thought  but  for  a  moment,  performed  the  task,  and  thus 
gained  his  lodging.  He  was  an  old  friend  of  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  and  it  was  to  her  he  was  indebted  for  his  post 
of  chevalier  d'honneur  in  the  new  household. 

Madame  d'O  was  appointed  lady  of  the  palace.  Her 
father,  named  Guilleragues,  a  gluttonous  Gascon,  had  been 
one  of  the  intimate  friends  of  Madame  Scarron,  who,  as 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  did  not  forget  her  old  acquaint- 
ance, but  procured  him  the  embassy  to  Constantinople. 
Dying  there,  he  left  an  only  daughter,  who,  on  the  voyage 
home  to  France,  gained  the  heart  of  Villers,  lieutenant  of 
the  vessel,  and  became  his  wife  in  Asia  Minor,  near  the 
ruins  of  Troy.  Villers  claimed  to  be  of  the  house  of 
d'O;  hence  the  name  his  wife  bore. 

Established  at  the  Court,  the  newly  married  couple 
quickly  worked  themselves  into  the  favor  of  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  both  being  very  clever  in  intrigue.  M.  d'O 
was  made  governor  of  the  Comte  de  Toulouse,  and  soon 
gained  his  entire  confidence.  Madame  d'O,  too,  infinitely 
pleased  the  young  Count,  just  then  entering  upon  man- 
hood, by  her  gallantry,  her  wit,  and'  the  facilities  she  al- 
lowed him.  Both,  in  consequence,  grew  in  great  esteem 
with  the  King.  Had  they  been  attendants  upon  princes 
of  the  blood,  he  would  assuredly  have  slighted  them.  But 
he  always  showed  great  indulgence  to  those  who  served 
his  illegitimate  children.  Hence  the  appointment  of 
Madame  d'O  to  be  lady  of  the  palace. 

The  household  of  the  Princess  of  Savoy  being  completed, 
the  members  of  it  were  sent  to  the  Pont  Beauvosin  to 
meet  their  young  mistress.  She  arrived  early  on  the 
1 6th  of  October,  slept  at  the  Pont  Beauvosin  that  night, 
and  on  the  morrow  parted  with  her  Italian  attendants 
without  shedding  a  single  tear.  On  the  4th  of  November 
she  arrived  at  Montargis,  and  was  received  by  the  King, 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  109 

Monseigneur,  and  Monsieur.  The  King  handed  her 
down  from  her  coach,  and  conducted  her  to  the  apart- 
ment he  had  prepared  for  her.  Her  respectful  and  flat- 
tering manner  pleased  him  highly.  Her  cajoleries, 
too,  soon  bewitched  Madame  de  Maintenon,  whom 
she  never  addressed  except  as  "Aunt;"  whom  she 
treated  with  a  respect,  and  yet  with  a  freedom,  that 
ravished  everybody.  She  became  the  doll  of  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  and  the  King,  pleased  them  infinitely 
by  her  insinuating  spirit,  and  took  greater  liberties 
with  them  than  the  children  of  the  King  had  ever  dared 
to  attempt.  * 

*As  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  makes  a  great  figure  in  these 
((  Memoirs, w  it  will  be  well  to  give  a  description  of  her  personal  appear- 
ance from  the  pen  of  Louis  XIV.  himself.  Writing  to  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  he  says,  <(She  is  most  graceful  and  has  the  handsomest 
figure  I  have  ever  seen;  dressed  to  be  the  model  of  a  painter,  with  lively 
and  beautiful  eyes,  eyelashes  black  and  admirable,  a  clear  complexion, 
white  and  red ,  the  most  beautiful  flaxen  hair  that  can  be  seen,  and  very 
plentiful.  She  is  thin,  as  is  proper  at  her  age ;  with  a  vermilion  mouth ; 
full  lips ;  white  teeth,  long  and  ill-arranged ;  hands  well  made,  but  of  the 
color  of  her  age.  ° 


CHAPTER  X. 

My  Return  to  Fontainebleau  —  A  Calumny  at  Court  —  Portrait  of  M.  de 
La  Trappe  —  A  False  Painter  —  Fast  Living  at  the <(  Desert  » —  Comte 
d' Auvergne  —  Perfidy  of  Harlay  —  M.  de  Monaco  —  Madame  Panache 
—  The  Italian  Actors  and  «the  False  Prude. » 

MEANWHILE  our  campaign  upon  the  Rhine  proceeded, 
and  the  enemy,  having  had  all  their  grand  projects 
of  victory  defeated  by  the  firmness  and  the  capacity 
of  the  Mare'chal  de  Choiseul,  retired  into  winter  quarters, 
and  we  prepared  to  do  the  same.  The  month  of  Octo- 
ber was  almost  over  when  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  lost 
M.  Fremont,  father  of  the  Mare'chal  de  Lorges.  She  had 
happily  given  birth  to  a  daughter  on  the  8th  of  September. 
I  was  desirous  accordingly  to  go  to  Paris,  and  having  ob- 
tained permission  from  the  Mare'chal  de  Choiseul,  who 
had  treated  me  throughout  the  campaign  with  much 
politeness  and  attention,  I  set  out.  Upon  arriving  at 
Paris  I  found  the  Court  at  Fontainebleau  I  had  arrived 
from  the  army  a  little  before  the  rest,  and  did  not  wish 
that  the  King  should  know  it  without  seeing  me,  lest  he 
might  think  I  had  returned  in  secret.  I  hastened  at  once 
therefore  to  Fontainebleau,  where  the  King  received  me 
with  his  usual  goodness, —  saying,  nevertheless,  that  I  had 
returned  a  little  too  early,  but  that  it  was  of  no  conse- 
quence. 

I  had  not  long  left  his  presence  when  I  learned  a  report 
that  made  my  face  burn  again.  It  was  affirmed  that 
when  the  King  remarked  upon  my  arriving  a  little  early, 
I  had  replied  that  I  preferred  arriving  at  once  to  see 
him,  as  my  sole  mistress,  than  to  remain  some  days  in 
Paris,  as  did  the  other  young  men  with  their  mistresses. 
I  went  at  once  to  the  King,  who  had  a  numerous  com- 
pany around  him;  and  I  openly  denied  what  had  been 
reported,  offering  a  reward  for  the  discovery  of  the  knave 
who  had  thus  calumniated  me,  in  order  that  I  might 
(no) 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON       in 

give  him  a  sound  thrashing.  All  day  I  sought  to  dis- 
cover the  scoundrel.  My  speech  to  the  King  and  my 
choler  were  the  topic  of  the  day,  and  I  was  blamed  for 
having  spoken  so  loudly  and  in  such  terms.  But  of  two 
evils  I  had  chosen  the  least,  —  a  reprimand  from  the 
King,  or  a  few  days  in  the  Bastile;  and  I  had  avoided 
the  greatest,  which  was  to  allow  myself  to  be  believed 
an  infamous  libeler  of  our  young  men,  in  order  to  basely 
and  miserably  curry  favor  at  the  Court.  The  course  I 
took  succeeded.  The  King  said  nothing  of  the  matter,, 
and  I  went  upon  a  little  journey,  I  wished  particularly 
to  take,  for  reasons  I  will  now  relate. 

I  had,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  conceived  a  strong 
attachment  and  admiration  for  M.  de  La  Trappe.  I 
wished  to  secure  a  portrait  of  him,  but  such  was  his 
modesty  and  humility  that  I  feared  to  ask  him  to  allow 
himself  to  be  painted.  I  went  therefore  to  Rigault,  then 
the  first  portrait  painter  in  Europe.  In  consideration  of 
a  sum  of  a  thousand  crowns,  and  all  his  expenses  paid, 
he  agreed  to  accompany  me  to  La  Trappe,  and  to  make 
a  portrait  of  him  from  memory.  The  whole  affair  was- 
to  be  kept  a  profound  secret,  and  only  one  copy  of  the 
picture  was  to  be  made,  and  that  for  the  artist  himself. 

My  plan  being  fully  arranged,  I  and  Rigault  set  out. 
As  soon  as  we  arrived  at  our  journey's  end,  I  sought  M. 
de  La  Trappe  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  introduce  to 
him  a  friend  of  mine,  an  officer,  who  much  wished  to 
see  him :  I  added,  that  my  friend  was  a  stammerer,  and  that 
therefore  he  would  be  importuned  merely  with  looks  and 
not  words.  .M.  de  La  Trappe  smiled  with  goodness, 
thought  the  officer  curious  about  little,  and  consented  to 
see  him.  The  interview  took  place.  Rigault  excusing" 
himself  on  the  ground  of  his  infirmity,  did  little  during 
three-quarters  of  an  hour  but  keep  his  eyes  upon  M.  de 
La  Trappe,  and  at  the  end  went  into  a  room  where  ma- 
terials were  already  provided  for  him,  and  covered  his 
canvas  with  the  images  and  the  ideas  he  had  filled  him- 
self with.  On  the  morrow  the  same  thing  was  repeated, 
although  M.  de  La  Trappe,  thinking  that  a  man  whom 
he  knew  not,  and  could  take  no  part  in  conversation,  had 
sufficiently  seen  him,  agreed  to  the  interview  only  out  of 


ii2  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

complaisance  to  me.  Another  sitting  was  needed  in  order 
to  finish  the  work;  but  it  was  with  great  difficulty  M.  de 
La  Trappe  could  be  persuaded  to  consent  to  it.  When 
the  third  and  last  interview  was  at  an  end,  M.  de  La 
Trappe  testified  to  me  his  surprise  at  having  been  so 
much  and  so  long  looked  at  by  a  species  of  mute.  I 
made  the  best  excuses  I  could,  and  hastened  to  turn  the 
conversation. 

The  portrait  was  at  length  finished,  and  was  a  most 
perfect  likeness  of  my  venerable  friend.  Rigault  admitted 
to  me  that  he  had  worked  so  hard  to  produce  it  from 
memory,  that  for  several  months  afterward  he  had  been 
unable  to  do  anything  to  his  other  portraits.  Notwith- 
standing the  thousand  crowns  I  had  paid  him,  he  broke 
the  engagement  he  had  made  by  showing  the  portrait 
before  giving  it  up  to  me.  Then,  solicited  for  copies,  he 
made  several,  gaining  thereby,  according  to  his  own  ad- 
mission, more  than  twenty-five  thousand  francs,  and  thus 
gave  publicity  to  the  affair. 

I  was  very  much  annoyed  at  this,  and  with  the  noise 
it  made  in  the  world;  and  I  wrote  to  M.  de  La  Trappe, 
relating  the  deception  I  had  practiced  upon  him  and  sued 
for  pardon.  He  was  pained  to  excess,  hurt,  and  afflicted ; 
nevertheless  he  showed  no  anger.  He  wrote  in  return 
to  me,  and  said,  I  was  not  ignorant  that  a  Roman 
Emperor  had  said,  (<  I  love  treason,  but  not  traitors ; w 
but  that,  as  for  himself,  he  felt  on  the  contrary  that  he 
loved  the  traitor  but  could  only  hate  his  treason.  I 
made  presents  of  three  copies  of  the  picture  to  the 
monastery  of  La  Trappe.  On  the  back  of  the  original  I 
described  the  circumstance  under  which  the  portrait  had 
been  taken,  in  order  to  show  that  M.  de  La  Trappe  had 
not  consented  to  it,  and  I  pointed  out  that  for  some 
years  he  had  been  unable  to  use  his  right  hand,  to 
acknowledge  thus  the  error  which  had  been  made  in 
representing  him  as  writing. 

The  King,  about  this  time,  set  on  foot  negotiations 
for  peace  in  Holland,  sending  there  two  plenipotentiaries, 
Courtin  and  Harlay,  and  acknowledging  one  of  his  agents, 
Caillieres,  who  had  been  for  some  little  time  secretly  in 
that  country. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  113 

The  year  finished  with  the  disgrace  of  Madame  de 
Saint  G6ran.  She  was  on  the  best  of  terms  with  the 
Princesses,  and  as  much  a  lover  of  good  cheer  as  Madame 
de  Chartres  and  Madame  la  Duchess.  This  latter  had 
in  the  park  of  Versailles  a  little  house  that  she  called 
the  <(  Desert. w  There  she  had  received  very  doubtful 
company,  giving  such  gay  repasts  that  the  King,  informed 
of  her  doings,  was  angry,  and  forbade  her  to  continue  these 
parties  or  to  receive  certain  guests.  Madame  de  Saint 
Geran  was  then  in  the  first  year  of  her  mourning,  so 
that  the  King  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  include  her 
among  the  interdicted;  but  he  intimated  that  he  did  not 
approve  of  her.  In  spite  of  this,  Madame  la  Duchess 
invited  her  to  an  early  supper  at  the  Desert  a  short 
time  after,  and  the  meal  was  prolonged  so  far  into  the 
night,  and  with  so  much  gaiety,  that  it  came  to  the  ears 
of  the  King.  He  was  in  great  anger,  and  learning  that 
Madame  de  Saint  Geran  had  been  of  the  party,  sentenced 
her  to  be  banished  twenty  leagues  from  the  Court.  Like 
a  clever  woman,  she  retired  into  a  convent  at  Rouen, 
saying  that  as  she  had  been  unfortunate  enough  to  dis- 
please the  King,  a  convent  was  the  only  place  for  her; 
and  this  was  much  approved. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  next  year  (1697)  the  eld- 
est son  of  the  Comte  d'Auvergne  completed  his  dishonor 
by  a  duel  he  fought  with  the  Chevalier  de  Caylus,  on 
account  of  a  tavern  broil,  and  a  dispute  about  some 
wenches.  Caylus,  who  had  fought  well,  fled  from  the 
kingdom;  the  other,  who  had  used  his  sword  like  a  pol- 
troon, and  had  run  away  dismayed  into  the  streets,  was 
disinherited  by  his  father,  sent  out  of  the  country,  and 
returned  no  more.  He  was  in  every  respect  a  wretch, 
who,  on  account  of  his  disgraceful  adventures,  was  forced 
to  allow  himself  to  be  disinherited  and  to  take  the  cross 
of  Malta;  he  was  hanged  in  effigy  at  the  Greve,  to  the 
great  regret  of  his  family,  not  on  account  of  the  sen- 
tence, but  because,  in  spite  of  every  entreaty,  he  had 
been  proceeded  against  like  the  most  obscure  gentle- 
man. The  exile  of  Caylus  afterward  made  his  fortune. 

We  had  another  instance,  about  this  time,  of  the  per- 
fidy of  Harlay.  He  had  been  intrusted  with  a  valuable 


H4  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

deposit  by  Ruvigny,  a  Huguenot  officer,  who,  quitting 
France,  had  entered  the  service  of  the  Prince  of  Orange, 
and  who  was,  with  the  exception  of  Marshal  Schomberg, 
the  only  Huguenot  to  whom  the  King  offered  the  per- 
mission of  remaining  at  Court  with  full  liberty  to  prac- 
tice his  religion  in  secret.  This,  Ruvigny,  like  Marshal 
Schomberg,  refused.  He  was,  nevertheless,  allowed  to 
retain  the  property  he  possessed  in  France ;  but  after  his 
death,  his  son,  not  showing  himself  at  all  grateful  for  this 
favor,  the  King  at  last  confiscated  the  property,  and  pub- 
licly testified  his  anger.  This  was  the  moment  that  Har- 
lay  seized  to  tell  the  King  of  the  deposit  he  had.  As  a 
recompense  the  King  gave  it  to  him  as  confiscated,  and 
this  hypocrite  of  justice,  of  virtue,  of  disinterestedness, 
and  of  rigorism  was  not  ashamed  to  appropriate  it  to 
himself,  and  to  close  his  ears  and  his  eyes  to  the  noise 
this  perfidy  excited. 

M.  de  Monaco,  who  had  obtained  for  himself  the  title 
of  foreign  prince  by  the  marriage  of  his  son  with  the 
Duchess  de  Valentinois,  daughter  of  M.  le  Grand,  and 
who  enjoyed,  as  it  were,  the  sovereignty  of  a  rock  —  be- 
yond whose  narrow  limits  anybody  might  spit,  so  to 
speak,  while  standing  in  the  middle  —  soon  found,  and 
his  son  still  more  so,  that  they  had  bought  the  title  very 
dear.  The  Duchess  was  charming,  gallant,  and  was  spoiled 
by  the  homage  of  the  Court,  in  a  house  open  night  and 
day,  and  to  which  her  beauty  attracted  all  that  was 
young  and  brilliant.  Her  husband,  with  much  intelli- 
gence, was  diffident;  his  face  and  figure  had  acquired  for 
him  the  name  of  Goliath;  he  suffered  for  a  long  time 
the  haughtiness  and  the  disdain  of  his  wife  and  her  fam- 
ily. At  last  he  and  his  father  grew  tired  and  took  away 
Madame  de  Valentinois  to  Monaco.  She  grieved,  and 
her  parents  also,  as  though  she  had  been  carried  off  to 
the  Indies.  After  two  years  of  absence  and  repentance, 
she  promised  marvels,  and  was  allowed  to  return  to 
Paris.  I  know  not  who  counseled  her,  but  without 
changing  her  conduct  she  thought  only  how  to  prevent 
a  return  to  Monaco;  and  to  insure  herself  against  this, 
she  accused  her  father-in-law  of  having  made  vile  pro- 
posals to  her,  and  of  attempting  to  take  her  by  force. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  115 

This  charge  made  a  most  scandalous  uproar,  but  was  be- 
lieved by  nobody.  M.  de  Monaco  was  no  longer  young; 
he  was  a  very  honest  man,  and  had  always  passed  for 
such ;  besides,  he  was  almost  blind  in  both  eyes,  and  had 
a  huge  pointed  belly,  which  absolutely  excited  fear,  it 
jutted  out  so  far! 

After  some  time,  as  Madame  de  Valentinois  still  con- 
tinued to  swim  in  the  pleasures  of  the  Court,  under  the 
shelter  of  her  family,  her  husband  redemanded  her; 
and  though  he  was  laughed  at  at  first,  she  was  at  last 
given  up  to  him. 

A  marriage  took  place  at  this  time  between  the  son 
of  Pontchartrain  and  the  daughter  of  the  Comte  de  Roye. 
The  Comte  de  Roye  was  a  Huguenot,  and,  at  the  revoca- 
tion of  the  edict  of  Nantes,  had  taken  refuge,  with  his 
wife,  in  Denmark,  where  he  had  been  made  grand  mar- 
shal and  commander  of  all  the  troops.  One  day,  as  the 
Comte  de  Roye  was  dining  with  his  wife  and  daughter  at 
the  King's  table,  the  Comtesse  de  Roye  asked  her  daugh- 
ter if  she  did  not  think  the  Queen  of  Denmark  and 
Madame  Panache  resembled  each  other  like  two  drops  of 
water  ?  Although  she  spoke  in  French  and  in  a  low 
tone,  the  Queen  both  heard  and  understood  her,  and  in- 
quired at  once  who  was  Madame  Panache.  The  Com- 
tesse in  her  surprise  replied,  that  she  was  a  very 
amiable  woman  at  the  French  Court.  The  Queen,  who 
had  noticed  the  surprise  of  the  Comtesse,  was  not  sat- 
isfied with  this  reply.  She  wrote  to  the  Danish  minis- 
ter at  Paris,  desiring  to  be  informed  of  every  particular 
respecting  Madame  Panache,  her  face,  her  age,  her  con- 
dition, and  upon  what  footing  she  was  at  the  French 
Court.  The  minister,  all  astonished  that  the  Queen 
should  have  heard  of  Madame  Panache,  wrote  word  that 
she  was  a  little  and  very  old  creature,  with  lips  and  eyes 
so  disfigured  that  they  were  painful  to  look  upon;  a 
species  of  beggar  who  had  obtained  a  footing  at  Court 
from  being  half-witted,  who  was  now  at  the  supper  of 
the  King,  now  at  the  dinner  of  Monseigneur,  or  at  other 
places,  where  everybody  amused  themselves  by  torment- 
ing her.  She  in  turn  abused  the  company  at  these 
parties,  in  order  to  cause  diversion,  but  sometimes  rated 


n6      MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

them  very  seriously  and  with  strong  words,  which  de- 
lighted still  more  those  princes  and  princesses,  who 
emptied  into  her  pockets  meat  and  ragotits,  the  sauces 
of  which  ran  all  down  her  petticoats:  at  these  parties 
some  gave  her  a  pistole  or  a  crown,  and  others  a  fillip 
or  a  smack  in  the  face,  which  put  her  in  a  fury,  because 
with  her  bleared  eyes  not  being  able  to  see  to  the  end 
of  her  nose,  she  could  not  tell  who  had  struck  her. 
She  was,  in  a  word,  the  pastime  of  the  Court! 

Upon  learning  this,  the  Queen  of  Denmark  was  so 
piqued,  that  she  could  no  longer  suffer  the  Comtesse  de 
Roye  near  her;  she  complained  to  the  King:  he  was 
much  offended  that  foreigners,  whom  he  had  loaded  with 
favor,  should  so  repay  him.  The  Comte  de  Roye  was 
unable  to  stand  up  against  the  storm,  and  withdrew  to 
England,  where  he  died  a  few  years  after. 

The  King  at  this  time  drove  away  the  company  of 
Italian  actors,  and  would  not  permit  another  in  its  place. 
So  long  as  the  Italians  had  simply  allowed  their  stage 
to  overflow  with  filth  or  impiety  they  only  caused  laughter ; 
but  they  set  about  playing  a  piece  called  (<  The  False 
Prude, "  in  which  Madame  de  Maintenon  was  easily  re- 
cognized. Everybody  ran  to  see  the  piece;  but  after 
three  or  four  representations,  given  consecutively  on  ac- 
count of  the  gain  it  brought,  the  Italians  received  orders 
to  close  their  theater  and  to  quit  the  realm  in  a  month. 
This  affair  made  great  noise;  and  if  the  comedians  lost 
an  establishment  by  their  boldness  and  folly,  they  who 
drove  them  away  gained  nothing  —  such  was  the  license 
with  which  this  ridiculous  event  was  spoken  of  ! 


CHAPTER   XL 

A  Scientific  Retreat  —  The  Peace  of  Ryswick  —  Prince  of  Conti,  King  of 
Poland  —  His  Voyage  and  Reception  —  King  of  England  Acknowl- 
edged —  Due  de  Cond6  in  Burgundy  —  Strange  Death  of  Santeuil  — 
Duties  of  the  Prince  of  Darmstadt  in  Spain  —  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non's  Brother — Extravagant  Dresses — Marriage  of  the  Due  de 
Bourgogne  —  The  Bedding  of  the  Princess  —  Grand  Balls  —  A 
Scandalous  Bird. 

THE  disposition  of  the  armies  was  the  same  this  year 
as  last,  except  that  the  princes  did  not  serve. 
Toward  the  end  of  May  I  joined  the  army  of  the 
Rhine,  under  the  Mare*chal  de  Choiseul,  as  before.  We 
made  some  skillful  manoeuvres,  but  did  little  in  the  way 
of  fighting.  For  sixteen  days  we  encamped  at  Nieder- 
buhl,  where  we  obtained  a  good  supply  of  forage.  At 
the  end  of  that  time  the  Mare"chal  de  Choiseul  deter- 
mined to  change  his  position.  Our  army  was  so  placed, 
that  the  enemy  could  see  almost  all  of  it  quite  distinctly; 
yet  nevertheless,  we  succeeded  in  decamping  so  quickly, 
that  we  disappeared  from  under  their  very  eyes  in  open 
daylight,  and  in  a  moment  as  it  were.  Such  of  the 
Imperial  Generals  as  were  out  riding  ran  from  all  parts 
to  the  banks  of  the  Murg,  to  see  our  retreat,  but  it  was 
so  promptly  executed  that  there  was  no  time  for  them  to 
attempt  to  hinder  us.  When  the  Prince  of  Baden  was 
told  of  our  departure  he  could  not  credit  it.  He  had 
seen  us  so  lately,  quietly  resting  in  our  position,  that  it 
seemed  impossible  to  him  we  had  left  it  in  such  a  short 
space  of  time.  When  his  own  eyes  assured  him  of  the 
fact,  he  was  filled  with  such  astonishment  and  admira- 
tion, that  he  asked  those  around  him  if  they  had  ever 
seen  such  a  retreat, —  adding,  that  he  could  not  have 
believed,  until  then,  that  an  army  so  numerous  and  so 
considerable  should  have  been  able  to  disappear  thus  in 
an  instant. 

("7) 


n8  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

This  honorable  and  bold  retreat  was  attended  by  a  sad 
accident.  One  of  our  officers,  named  Blansac,  while  lead- 
ing a  column  of  infantry  through  the  woods,  was  over- 
taken by  night.  A  small  party  of  his  men  heard  some 
cavalry  near  them.  The  cavalry  belonged  to  the  enemy, 
and  had  lost  their  way.  Instead  of  replying  when  chal- 
lenged, they  said  to  each  other  in  German,  w  Let  us  run 
for  it.®  Nothing  more  was  wanting  to  draw  upon  them 
a  discharge  from  the  small  body  of  our  men,  by  whom 
they  had  been  heard.  To  this  they  replied  with  their 
pistols.  Immediately,  and  without  orders,  the  whole  col- 
umn of  infantry  fired  in  that  direction,  and,  before  Blan- 
sac could  inquire  the  cause,  fired  again.  Fortunately  he 
was  not  wounded ;  but  five  unhappy  captains  were  killed, 
and  some  subalterns  wounded. 

Our  campaign  was  brought  to  an  end  by  the  peace  of 
Ryswick.  The  first  news  of  that  event  arrived  at  Fon- 
tainebleau  on  the  226.  of  September.  Celi,  son  of  Harlay, 
had  been  dispatched  with  the  intelligence;  but  he  did 
not  arrive  until  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  of  the  26th 
of  September.  He  had  amused  himself  by  the  way  with 
a  young  girl  who  had  struck  his  fancy,  and  with  some  wine 
that  he  equally  relished.  He  had  committed  all  the  ab- 
surdities and  impertinences  which  might  be  expected 
of  a  debauched,  hair-brained  young  fellow,  completely 
spoiled  by  his  father,  and  he  crowned  all  by  this  fine 
delay. 

A  little  time  before  the  signing  of  peace,  the  Prince 
de  Conti.  having  been  elected  King  of  Poland,  set  out 
to  take  possession  of  his  throne.  The  King,  ravished 
with  joy  to  see  himself  delivered  from  a  Prince  whom 
he  disliked,  could  not  hide  his  satisfaction  —  his  eager- 
ness —  to  get  rid  of  a  Prince  whose  only  faults  were  that 
he  had  no  bastard  blood  in  his  veins,  and  that  he  was 
so  much  liked  by  all  the  nation  that  they  wished  him  at 
the  head  of  the  army,  and  murmured  at  the  little  favor 
he  received,  as  compared  with  that  showered  down  upon 
the  illegitimate  children. 

The  King  made  all  haste  to  treat  the  Prince  to  royal 
honors.  After  an  interview  in  the  Cabinet  of  Madam  de 
Maintenon,  he  presented  him  to  a  number  of  ladies,  say- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  119 

ing,  (<  I  bring  you  a  king. w  The  Prince  was  all  along 
doubtful  of  the  validity  of  his  election,  and  begged  that 
the  Princess  might  not  be  treated  as  a  Queen,  until  he 
should  have  been  crowned.  He  received  two  millions  in 
cash  from  the  King  and  other  assistances.  Samuel  Ber- 
nard undertook  to  make  the  necessary  payments  in  Poland. 
The  Prince  started  by  way  of  Dunkerque,  and  went  to 
that  place  at  such  speed,  that  an  ill-closed  chest  opened, 
and  two  thousand  louis  were  scattered  on  the  road, 
a  portion  only  of  which  was  brought  back  to  the 
Hotel  Conti.  The  celebrated  Jean  Bart  pledged  himself 
to  take  him  safely,  despite  the  enemy's  fleet;  and 
kept  his  word.  The  convoy  was  of  five  frigates.  The 
Chevalier  de  Sillery,  before  starting,  married  Mile.  Bigot, 
rich  and  witty,  with  whom  he  had  been  living  for  some 
time.  Meanwhile  the  best  news  arrived  from  our  am- 
bassador, the  Abb£  de  Polignac,  to  the  King,  but  all 
answers  were  intercepted  at  Dantzic  by  the  retired  Queen 
of  Poland,  who  sent  on  only  the  envelopes!  However, 
the  Prince  de  Conti  passed  up  the  Sound;  and  the  King 
and  Queen  of  Denmark  watched  them  from  the  windows 
of  the  Chateau  de  Cronenbourg.  Jean  Bart,  against  cus- 
tom, ordered  a  salute  to  be  fired.  It  was  returned;  and 
as  some  light  vessels  passing  near  the  frigates  said  that 
the  King  and  Queen  were  looking  on,  the  Prince  ordered 
another  salvo. 

There  was,  however,  another  claimant  to  the  throne 
of  Poland;  I  mean  the  Elector  of  Saxony,  who  had  also 
been  elected  and  who  had  many  partisans;  so  many  in- 
deed, that  when  the  Prince  de  Conti  arrived  at  Dantzic, 
he  found  himself  almost  entirely  unsupported.  The  peo- 
ple even  refused  provision  to  his  frigates.  However, 
the  Prince's  partisans  at  length  arrived  to  salute  him. 
The  Bishop  of  Plosko  gave  him  a  grand  repast,  near  the 
Abbey  of  Oliva.  Marege,  a  Gascon  gentleman  of  the 
Prince's  suite,  was  present,  but  had  been  ill.  There  was 
drinking  in  the  Polish  fashion,  and  he  tried  to  be  let  off. 
The  Prince  pleaded  for  him;  but  these  Poles,  who,  in 
order  to  make  themselves  understood,  spoke  Latin  —  and 
very  bad  Latin  indeed  —  would  not  accept  such  an  excuse, 
and  forcing  him  to  drink,  howled  furiously  Bibat  et  Moria- 


izo  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

tur!  Mare'ge,  who  was  very  jocular  and  yet  very  choleric, 
used  to  tell  this  story  in  the  same  spirit,  and  made  every- 
one who  heard  it  laugh. 

However,  the  party  of  the  Prince  de  Conti  made  no 
way,  and  at  length  he  was  fain  to  make  his  way  back  to 
France  with  all  speed.  The  King  received  him  very 
graciously,  although,  at  heart  exceedingly  sorry  to  see  him 
again.  A  short  time  after,  the  Elector  of  Saxony  mounted 
the  throne  of  Poland  without  opposition,  and  was  publicly 
recognized  by  the  King,  toward  the  commencement  of 
August. 

By  the  above-mentioned  peace  of  Ryswick,  the  King 
acknowledged  the  Prince  of  Orange  as  King  of  England. 
It  was,  however,  a  bitter  draught  for  him  to  swallow, 
and  for  these  reasons.  Some  years  before,  the  King  had 
offered  his  illegitimate  daughter,  the  Princess  de  Conti, 
in  marriage  to  the  Prince  of  Orange,  believing  he  did 
that  Prince  great  honor  by  the  proposal.  The  Prince 
did  not  think  in  the  same  manner,  and  flatly  refused; 
saying,  that  the  house  of  Orange  was  accustomed  to 
marry  the  legitimate  daughters  of  great  kings,  and  not 
their  bastards.  These  words  sank  so  deeply  into  the 
heart  of  the  King,  that  he  never  forgot  them ;  and  often, 
against  even  his  most  palpable  interest,  showed  how 
firmly  the  indignation  he  felt  at  them  had  taken  posses- 
sion of  his  mind.  Since  then,  the  Prince  of  Orange  had 
done  all  in  his  power  to  efface  the  effect  his  words  had 
made,  but  every  attempt  was  rejected  with  disdain.  The 
King's  ministers  in  Holland  had  orders  to  do  all  they 
could  to  thwart  the  projects  of  the  Prince  of  Orange,  to 
excite  people  against  him,  to  protect  openly  those  opposed 
to  him,  and  to  be  in  no  way  niggard  of  money  in  order 
to  secure  the  election  of  magistrates  unfavorable  to  him. 
The  Prince  never  ceased,  until  the  breaking  out  of  this 
war,  to  use  every  effort  to  appease  the  anger  of  the  King. 
At  last,  growing  tired,  and  hoping  soon  to  make  his 
invasion  into  England,  he  said  publicly,  that  he  had  use- 
lessly labored  all  his  life  to  gain  the  favors  of  the  King, 
but  that  he  hoped  to  be  more  fortunate  in  meriting  his 
esteem.  It  may  be  imagined,  therefore,  what  a  triumph 
it  was  for  him  when  he  forced  the  King  to  recognize 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  121 

him  as  monarch  of  England,  and  what  that  recognition 
cost  the  King. 

M.  le  Due  presided  this  year  over  the  Assembly  of  the 
States  of  Burgundy,  in  place  of  his  father  M.  le  Prince, 
who  did  not  wish  to  go  there.  The  duke  gave  on  that 
occasion  a  striking  example  of  the  friendship  of  princes, 
and  a  fine  lesson  to  those  who  seek  it.  Santeuil,  Canon 
of  St.  Victor,  and  the  greatest  Latin  poet  who  has  ap- 
peared for  many  centuries,  accompanied  him.  Santeuil 
was  an  excellent  fellow,  full  of  wit  and  of  life,  and  of 
pleasantries,  which  rendered  him  an  admirable  boon  com- 
panion. Fond  of  wine  and  of  good  cheer,  he  was  not  de- 
bauched ;  and  with  a  disposition  and  talents  so  little  fitted 
for  the  cloister,  was  nevertheless,  at  bottom,  as  good  a 
churchman  as  with  such  a  character  he  could  be.  He  was  a. 
great  favorite  with  all  the  house  of  Conde",  and  was  in- 
vited to  their  parties,  where  his  witticisms,  his  verses, 
and  his  pleasantries  had  afforded  infinite  amusement  for 
many  years. 

M.  le  Due  wished  to  take  him  to  Dijon.  Santeuil  tried 
to  excuse  himself,  but  without  effect:  he  was  obliged  to 
go,  and  was  established  at  the  house  of  the  duke  while 
the  States  were  held.  Every  evening  there  was  a  supper, 
and  Santeuil  was  always  the  life  of  the  company.  One 
evening  M.  le  Due  diverted  himself  by  forcing  Santeuil 
to  drink  champagne,  and  passing  from  pleasantry  to 
pleasantry,  thought  it  would  be  a  good  joke  to  empty 
his  snuffbox,  full  of  Spanish  snuff,  into  a  large  glass  of 
wine,  and  to  make  Santeuil  drink  it,  in  order  to  see  what 
would  happen.  It  was  not  long  before  he  was  enlight- 
ened upon  this  point.  Santeuil  was  seized  with  vomiting 
and  with  fever,  and  in  twice  twenty-four  hours  the  un- 
happy man  died  —  suffering  the  tortures  of  the  damned, 
but  with  sentiments  of  extreme  penitence,  in  which  he 
received  the  Sacrament,  and  edified  a  company  little  dis- 
posed toward  edification,  but  who  detested  such  a  cruel 
joke. 

In  consequence  of  the  peace  just  concluded  at  Ryswick, 
many  fresh  arrangements  were  made  about  this  time  in 
our  embassies  abroad.  This  allusion  to  our  foreign 
appointments  brings  to  my  mind  an  anecdote  which 


122  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

deserves  to  be  remembered.  When  M.  le  Vendome  took 
Barcelona,  the  Montjoui  (which  is  as  it  were  its  citadel) 
was  commanded  by  the  Prince  of  Darmstadt.  He  was  of 
the  house  of  Hesse,  and  had  gone  into  Spain  to  seek 
employment:  he  was  a  relative  of  the  Queen  of  Spain 
and,  being  a  very  well-made  man,  had  not,  it  was  said, 
displeased  her.  It  was  said  also,  and  by  people  whose 
word  was  not  without  weight,  that  the  same  Council  of 
Vienna  which  for  reasons  of  state  had  made  no  scruple 
of  poisoning  the  late  Queen  of  Spain  ( daughter  of  Mon- 
sieur), because  she  had  no  children,  and  because  she  had, 
also,  too  much  ascendency  over  the  heart  of  her  husband ; 
it  was  said,  I  say,  that  this  same  Council  had  no  scruples 
upon  another  point.  After  poisoning  the  first  Queen,  it 
had  remarried  the  King  of  Spain  to  a  sister  of  the  Em- 
press. She  was  tall,  majestic,  not  without  beauty  and 
capacity,  and,  guided  by  the  ministers  of  the  Emperor, 
soon  acquired  much  influence  over  the  King  —  her  hus- 
band. So  far  all  was  well,  but  the  most  important  thing 
was  wanting — she  had  no  children.  The  Council  had 
hoped  some  from  this  second  marriage,  because  it  had 
lured  itself  into  the  belief  that  previously  the  fault  rested 
with  the  late  Queen.  After  some  years,  this  same  Coun- 
cil, being  no  longer  able  to  disguise  the  fact  that  the  King 
could  have  no  children,  sent  the  Prince  of  Darmstadt  into 
Spain,  for  the  purpose  of  establishing  himself  there,  and 
of  ingratiating  himself  into  the  favor  of  the  Queen  to  such 
an  extent  that  this  defect  might  be  remedied.  The  Prince 
of  Darmstadt  was  well  received:  he  obtained  command 
in  the  army;  defended,  as  I  have  said,  Barcelona;  and 
obtained  a  good  footing  at  the  Court.  But  the  object  for 
which  he  had  been  more  especially  sent  he  could  not 
accomplish.  I  will  not  say  whether  the  Queen  was  inac- 
cessible from  her  own  fault  or  that  of  others.  Nor  will  I 
say,  although  I  have  been  assured,  but  I  believe  by 
persons  without  good  knowledge  of  the  subject,  that 
naturally  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  become  a  mother. 
I  will  simply  say  that  the  Prince  of  Darmstadt  was  on  the 
best  terms  with  the  King  and  the  Queen,  and  had  oppor- 
tunities very  rare  in  that  country,  without  any  fruit  which 
could  put  the  succession  of  the  monarchy  in  safety  against 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  123 

the  different  pretensions  afloat,  or  reassure  on  that  head 
the  politic  Council  of  Vienna. 

But  to  return  to  France. 

Madame  de  Maintenon,  despite  the  height  to  which  her 
insignificance  had  risen,  had  yet  her  troubles.  Her 
brother,  who  was  called  the  Comte  d'Aubigne,  was  of  but 
little  worth,  yet  always  spoke  as  though  no  man  were  his 
equal,  complained  that  he  had  not  been  made  Mare"chal 
of  France  —  sometimes  said  that  he  had  taken  his  bdton 
in  money,  and  constantly  bullied  Madame  de  Maintenon 
because  she  did  not  make  him  a  duke  and  a  peer.  He 
spent  his  time  running  after  girls  in  the  Tuileries,  al- 
ways had  several  on  his  hands,  and  lived  and  spent  his 
money  with  their  families  and  friends  of  the  same  kidney. 
He  was  just  fit  for  a  strait  waistcoat,  but  comical,  full  of 
wit  and  unexpected  repartees.  A  good,  humorous  fellow, 
and  honest  —  polite,  and  not  too  impertinent  on  account  of 
his  sister's  fortune.  Yet  it  was  a  pleasure  to  hear  him 
talk  of  the  time  of  Scarron  and  the  Hotel  d'Albret,  and 
of  the  gallantries  and  adventures  of  his  sister,  which  he 
contrasted  with  her  present  position  and  devotion.  He 
would  talk  in  this  manner,  not  before  one  or  two,  but  in 
a  compromising  manner,  qtiite  openly  in  the  Tuileries 
gardens,  or  in  the  galleries  of  Versailles,  before  every- 
body, and  would  often  drolly  speak  of  the  King  as  (<the 
brother-in-law. w  I  have  frequently  heard  him  talk  in  this 
manner;  above  all,  when  he  came  (more  often  than  was 
desired)  to  dine  with  my  father  and  mother,  who  were 
much  embarrassed  with  him ;  at  wrhich  I  used  to  laugh  in 
my  sleeve. 

A  brother  like  this  was  a  great  annoyance  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon.  His  wife,  an  obscure  creature, —  more 
obscure,  if  possible,  than  her  birth, —  foolish  to  the  last 
degree,  and  of  humble  mien,  was  almost  equally  so. 
Madame  de  Maintenon  determined  to  rid  herself  of  both. 
She  persuaded  her  brother  to  enter  a  society  that  had 
been  established  by  M.  Doyen  at  St.  Sulpice,  for  decayed 
gentlemen.  His  wife  at  the  same  time  was  induced  to 
retire  into  another  community,  where,  however,  she  did 
not  fail  to  say  to  her  companions  that  her  fate  was  very 
hard,  and  that  she  wished  to  be  free.  As  for  d'Aubigne 


124  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

-he  concealed  from  nobody  that  his  sister  was  putting  a 
joke  on  him  by  trying  to  persuade  him  he  was  devout, 
—  declared  that  he  was  pestered  by  priests,  and  that  he 
should  give  up  the  ghost  in  M.  Doyen's  house.  He  could 
not  stand  it  long,  and  went  back  to  his  girls  and  to  the 
Tuileries,  and  wherever  he  could;  but  they  caught  him 
again,  and  placed  him  under  the  guardianship  of  one  of 
the  stupidest  priests  of  St*  Sulpice,  who  followed  him 
everywhere  like  his  shadow,  and  made  him  miserable. 
The  fellow's  name  was  Madot:  he  was  good  for  no  other 
employment,  but  gained  his  pay  in  this  one  by  assiduity, 
of  which  perhaps  no  one  else  would  have  been  capable. 
The  only  child  of  this  Comte  d'Aubigne*  was  a  daughter, 
taken  care  of  by  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and  educated 
under  her  eyes  as  though  her  own  child. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  year,  and  not  long  after  my 
return  from  the  army,  the  King  fixed  the  day  for  the 
marriage  of  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  to  the  young  Princess 
de  Savoy.  He  announced  that  on  that  occasion  he  should 
be  glad  to  see  a  magnificent  Court;  and  he  himself,  who 
for  a  long  time  had  worn  only  the  most  simple  habits, 
ordered  the  most  superb.  This  was  enough;  no  one 
thought  of  consulting  his  purse  or  his  state:  everyone 
tried  to  surpass  his  neighbor  in  richness  and  invention. 
Gold  and  silver  scarcely  sufficed:  the  shops  of  the  deal- 
ers were  emptied  in  a  few  days;  in  a  word,  luxury  the 
most  unbridled,  reigned  over  Court  and  city,  for  the  ftte 
had  a  huge  crowd  of  spectators.  Things  went  to  such  a 
point,  that  the  King  almost  repented  of  what  he  had  said, 
and  remarked,  that  he  could  not  understand  how  husbands, 
could  be  such  fools  as  to  ruin  themselves  by  dresses  for 
their  wives;  he  might  have  added,  by  dresses  for  them- 
selves. But  the  impulse  had  been  given;  there  was  now 
no  time  to  remedy  it,  and  I  believe  the  King  at  heart 
was  glad ;  for  it  pleased  him  during  the  ftte  to  look  at  all 
the  dresses.  He  loved  passionately  all  kinds  of  sump- 
tuosity  at  his  Court,  and  he  who  should  have  held  only 
to  what  had  been  said,  as  to  the  folly  of  expense,  would 
have  grown  little  in  favor.  There  was  no  means,  there- 
fore, of  being  wise  among  so  many  fools.  Several  dresses 
were  necessary.  Those  for  Madame  Saint- Simon  and 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  125 

myself  cost  us  twenty  thousand  francs.  Workmen  were 
wanting  to  make  up  so  many  rich  habits.  Madame  la 
Duchess  actually  sent  her  people  to  take  some  by  force 
who  were  working  at  the  Due  de  Rohan's!  The  King 
heard  of  it,  did  not  like  it,  and  had  the  workmen  sent 
back  immediately  to  the  Hotel  de  Rohan,  although  the 
Due  de  Rohan  was  one  of  the  men  he  liked  the  least  in 
all  France.  The  King  did  another  thing,  which  showed 
that  he  desired  everybody  to  be  magnificent:  he  himself 
chose  the  design  for  the  embroidery  of  the  Princess. 
The  embroiderer  said  he  would  leave  all  his  other  designs 
for  that.  The  King  would  not  permit  this,  but  caused  him 
to  finish  the  work  he  had  in  hand,  and  to  set  himself 
afterward  at  the  other;  adding,  that  if  it  was  not  ready 
in  time,  the  Princess  could  do  without  it. 

The  marriage  was  fixed  for  Saturday,  the  yth  of  De- 
cember; and,  to  avoid  disputes  and  difficulties,  the  King 
suppressed  all  ceremonies.  The  day  arrived.  At  an  early 
hour  all  the  Court  went  to  Monseigneur  the  Due  de 
Bourgogne,  who  went  afterward  to  the  Princess.  A  lit- 
tle before  midday  the  procession  started  from  the  salon, 
and  proceeded  to  the  chapel.  Cardinal  de  Coislin  per- 
formed the  marriage  service.  As  soon  as  the  ceremony 
was  finished,  a  courier,  ready  at  the  door  of  the  chapel, 
started  for  Turin.  The  day  passed  wearily.  The  King 
and  Queen  of  England  came  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening,  and  some  time  afterward  supper  was  served. 
Upon  rising,  from  the  table,  the  Princess  was  shown  to 
her  bed,  none  but  ladies  being  allowed  to  remain  in  the 
chamber.  Her  chemise  was  given  her  by  the  Queen  of 
England  through  the  Duchess  de  Lude.  The  Due  de 
Bourgogne  undressed  in  another  room,  in  the  midst  of 
all  the  Court,  and  seated  upon  a  folding  chair.  The  King 
of  England  gave  him  his  shirt,  which  was  presented  'by 
the  Due  de  Beauvilliers.  As  soon  as  the  Duchess  de 
Bourgogne  was  in  bed,  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  entered, 
and  placed  himself  at  her  side  in  the  presence  of  all  the 
Court.  Immediately  afterward  everybody  went  away 
from  the  nuptial  chamber,  except  Monseigneur,  the  la- 
dies of  the  Princess,  and  the  .Due  de  Beauvilliers,  who  re- 
mained at  the  pillow  by  the  side  of  his  pupil,  with  the 


126  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

Duchess  de  Lude  on  the  other  side.  Monseigneur  stopped 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  talking  with  the  newly  married 
couple,  then  he  made  his  son  get  up,  after  having  told 
him  to  kiss  the  Princess,  in  spite  of  the  opposition  of  the 
Duchess  de  Lude.  As  it  proved,  too,  her  opposition  was 
not  wrong.  The  King  said  he  did  not  wish  that  his  grand- 
son should  kiss  the  end  of  the  Princess's  finger  until  they 
were  completely  on  the  footing  of  man  and  wife.  Mon- 
sieur le  Due  de  Bourgogne  after  this  redressed  himself 
in  the  antechamber,  and  went  to  his  own  bed  as  usual. 
The  little  Due  de  Berry,  spirited  and  resolute,  did  not 
approve  of  the  docility  of  his  brother,  and  declared  that 
he  would  have  remained  in  bed.  The  young  couple  were 
not,  indeed,  allowed  to  live  together  as  man  and  wife 
until  nearly  two  years  afterward.  The  first  night  that 
this  privilege  was  granted  them,  the  King  repaired  to 
their  chamber  hoping  to  surprise  them  as  they  went  to 
bed;  but  he  found  the  doors  closed,  and  would  not  allow 
them  to  be  opened.  The  marriage  f£tes  spread  over  sev- 
eral days.  On  the  Sunday  there  was  an  assembly  in  the 
apartments  of  the  new  Duchess  de  Bourgogne.  It  was 
magnificent  by  the  prodigious  number  of  ladies  seated  in 
a  circle,  or  standing  behind  the  stools,  gentlemen  in  turn 
behind  them,  and  the  dresses  of  all  beautiful.  It  com- 
menced at  six  o'clock.  The  King  came  at  the  end,  and 
led  all  the  ladies  into  the  saloon  near  the  chapel,  where 
was  a  fine  collation  and  the  music.  At  nine  o'clock  he 
conducted  Monsieur  and  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bour- 
gogne to  the  apartment  of  the  latter,  and  all  was  fin- 
ished for  the  day.  The  Princess  continued  to  live  just 
as  before,  and  the  ladies  had  strict  orders  never  to  leave 
her  alone  with  her  husband. 

On  the  Wednesday  there  was  a  grand  ball  in  the  gal- 
lery, superbly  ornamented  for  the  occasion.  There  was 
such  a  crowd,  and  such  disorder,  that  even  the  King 
was  inconvenienced,  and  Monsieur  was  pushed  and  knocked 
about  in  the  crush.  How  other  people  fared  may  be  im- 
agined. No  place  was  kept  —  strength  or  chance  decided 
everything  —  people  squeezed  in  where  they  could.  This 
spoiled  all  the  f£te.  About  nine  o'clock  refreshments 
were  handed  round,  and  at  half  past  ten  supper  was 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  127 

served.  Only  the  Princesses  of  the  blood  and  the  royal 
family  were  admitted  to  it.  On  the  following  Sunday 
there  was  another  ball,  but  this  time  matters  were  so 
arranged  that  no  crowding  or  inconvenience  occurred. 
The  ball  commenced  at  seven  o'clock  and  was  admirable; 
everybody  appeared  in  dresses  that  had  not  previously 
been  seen  The  King  found  that  of  Madame  de  Saint- 
Simon  much  to  his  taste,  and  gave  it  the  palm  over  all 
the  others ;  Madame  de  Maintenon  did  not  appear  at  these 
balls,  at  least  only  for  half  an  hour  at  each.  On  the  fol- 
lowing Tuesday  all  the  Court  went  at  four  o'clock  in  the 
afternoon  to  Trianon,  where  all  gambled  until  the  ar- 
rival of  the  King  and  Queen  of  England.  The  King  took 
them  into  the  theater,  where  Destouches's  opera  of 
<(  Isst*  was  very  well  performed.  The  opera  being  fin- 
ished, everybody  went  his  way,  and  thus  these  marriage 
fetes  were  brought  to  an  end. 

Tesse"  had  married  his  eldest  daughter  to  La  Varenne 
last  year,  and  now  married  his  second  daughter  to 
Maulevrier,  son  of  a  brother  of  Colbert.  This  mention 
of  La  Varenne  brings  to  my  recollection  a  very  pleasant 
anecdote  of  his  ancestor,  the  La  Varenne  so  known  in  all 
the  memoirs  of  the  time  as  having  risen  from  the  position 
of  scullion  to  that  of  cook,  and  then  to  that  of  cloak 
bearer  to  Henry  IV.,  whom  he  served  in  his  pleasures, 
and  afterward  in  his  state  affairs.  At  the  death  of  the 
King  La  Varenne  retired  very  old  and  very  rich  into  the 
country.  Birds  were  much  in  vogue  at  that  time,  and 
he  often  amused  himself  with  falconry.  One  day  a  magpie 
perched  on  one  of  his  trees,  and  neither  sticks  nor  stones 
could  dislodge  it.  La  Varenne  and  a  number  of  sports- 
men gathered  around  the  tree  and  tried  to  drive  away 
the  magpie.  Importuned  with  all  this  noise,  the  bird  at 
last  began  to  cry  repeatedly  with  all  its  might,  <(  Pandar ! 
Pandar !  » 

Now  La  Varenne  had  gained  all  he  possessed  by  that 
trade.  Hearing  the  magpie  repeat  again  and  again  the 
same  word,  he  took  it  into  his  head  that  by  a  miracle, 
like  the  observation  Balaam's  ass  made  to  his  master, 
the  bird  was  reproaching  him  for  his  sins.  He  was  so 
troubled  that  he  could  not  help  showing  it;  then,  more 


128       MEMOIRS   OF   THE  DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON 

and  more  agitated,  he  told  the  cause  of  his  disturbance 
to  the  company,  who  laughed  at  him  in  the  first  place, 
but,  upon  finding  that  he  was  growing  really  ill,  they 
endeavored  to  convince  him  that  the  magpie  belonged  to 
a  neighboring  village,  where  it  had  learned  the  word.  It 
was  all  in  vain :  La  Varenne  was  so  ill  that  he  was  obliged 
to  be  carried  home ;  fever  seized  him,  and  in  four  days 
he  died. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

An  Odd  Marriage  —  Black  Daughter  of  the  King  —  Travels  of  Peter 
the  Great  —  Magnificent  English  Ambassador — The  Prince  of  Parma 
—  A  Dissolute  Abbe  —  Orondat  —  Dispute  about  Mourning  —  M.  de 
Cambrai's  Book  Condemned  by  M.  de  la  Trappe  —  Anecdote  of  the 
Head  of  Madame  de  Montbazon  —  Condemnation  of  Fenelon  by  the 
Pope  —  His  Submission. 

HERE  perhaps  is  the  place  to  speak  of  Charles  IV., 
Due  de  Lorraine,  so  well  known  by  his  genius,  and 
the  extremities  to  which  he  was  urged.  He  was 
married  in  1621  to  the  Duchess  Nicole,  his  cousin-german, 
but  after  a  time  ceased  to  live  with  her.  Being  at  Brus- 
sels he  fell  in  love  with  Madame  de  Cantecroix,  a  widow. 
He  bribed  a  courier  to  bring  him  news  of  the  death  of 
the  Duchess  Nicole:  he  circulated  the  report  throughout 
the  town,  wore  mourning,  and  fourteen  days  afterward, 
in  April,  1637,  married  Madame  de  Cantecroix.  In  a 
short  time  it  was  discovered  that  the  Duchess  Nicole  was 
full  of  life  and  health,  and  had  not  even  been  ill.  Ma- 
dame de  Cantecroix  made  believe  that  she  had  been  duped, 
but  still  lived  with  the  duke.  They  continued  to  report 
the  Duchess  Nicole  as  dead,  and  lived  together  in  the 
face  of  the  world  as  though  effectually  married,  although 
there  had  never  been  any  question  either  before  or  since 
of  dissolving  the  first  marriage.  The  Due  Charles  had 
by  this  fine  marriage  a  daughter  and  then  a  son,  both 
perfectly  illegitimate,  and  universally  regarded  as  such. 
Of  these  the  daughter  married  Comte  de  Lislebonne,  by 
whom  she  had  four  children.  The  son,  educated  under 
his  father's  eye  as  legitimate,  was  called  Prince  de 
Vaudemont,  and  by  that  name  has  ever  since  been  known. 
He  entered  the  service  of  Spain,  distinguished  himself 
in  the  army,  obtained  the  support  of  the  Prince  of 
Orange,  and  ultimately  rose  to  the  very  highest  influence 
and  prosperity. 

People  were  astonished  this  year,  that  while  the  Princess 
of  Savoy  was  at  Fontainebleau,  just  before  her  marriage, 
9  (129) 


130  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

she  was  taken  several  times  by  Madame  de  Maintenon 
to  a  little  unknown  convent  at  Moret,  where  there  was 
nothing  to  amuse  her,  and  no  nuns  who  were  known. 
Madame  de  Maintenon  often  went  there,  and  Monseigneur 
with  his  children  sometimes;  the  late  Queen  used  to  go 
also.  This  awakened  much  curiosity  and  gave  rise  to 
many  reports.  It  seems  that  in  this  convent  there  was 
a  woman  of  color,  a  Moorish  woman,  who  had  been 
placed  there  very  young  by  Bontems,  valet  of  the  King. 
She  received  the  utmost  care  and  attention,  but  never 
was  shown  to  anybody.  When  the  late  Queen  or  Madame 
de  Maintenon  went,  they  did  not  always  see  her,  but 
always  watched  over  her  welfare.  She  was  treated  with 
more  consideration  than  people  the  most  distinguished: 
and  herself  made  much  of  the  care  that  was  taken  of 
her,  and  the  mystery  by  which  she  was  surrounded. 
Although  she  lived  regularly,  it  was  easy  to  see  she  was 
not  too  contented  with  her  position.  Hearing  Monseigneur 
hunt  in  the  forest  one  day,  she  forgot  herself  so  far  as 
to  exclaim,  <(  My  brother  is  hunting ! w  It  was  pretended 
that  she  was  a  daughter  of  the  King  and  Queen,  but 
that  she  had  been  hidden  away  on  account  of  her  color; 
and  the  report  was  spread  that  the  Queen  had  had  a 
miscarriage."  Many  people  believed  this  story;  but  whether 
it  was  true  or  not  has  remained  an  enigma. 

The  year  1698  commenced  by  a  reconciliation  between 
the  Jesuits  and  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims.  That  prelate 
upon  the  occasion  of  an  ordonnance  had  expressed  him- 
self upon  matters  of  doctrine  and  morality  in  a  manner 
that  displeased  the  Jesuits.  They  acted  toward  him  in 
their  usual  manner,  by  writing  an  attack  upon  him,  which 
appeared  without  any  author's  name.  But  the  Arch- 
bishop complained  to  the  King,  and  altogether  stood  his 
ground  so  firmly,  that  in  the  end  the  Jesuits  were  glad 
to  give  way,  disavow  the  book,  and  arrange  the  recon- 
ciliation which  took  place. 

The  Czar,  Peter  the  Great,  Emperor  of  Russia,  had  at 
this  time  already  commenced  his  voyage;  he  was  in 
Holland,  learning  shipbuilding.  Although  incognito,  he 
wished  to  be  recognized,  but  after  his  own  fashion,  and 
was  annoyed  that,  being  so  near  to  England,  no  embassy 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  131 

was  sent  to  him  from  that  country,  which  he  wished  to 
ally  himself  with  for  commercial  reasons. 

At  last  an  embassy  arrived;  he  delayed  for  some  time 
to  give  it  an  audience,  but  in  the  end  fixed  the  day  and 
hour  at  which  he  would  see  it.  The  reception,  however, 
was  to  take  place  on  board  a  large  Dutch  vessel  that  he 
was  going  to  examine.  There  were  two  ambassadors; 
they  thought  the  meeting  place  rather  an  odd  one,  but 
were  obliged  to  go  there.  When  they  arrived  on  board 
the  Czar  sent  word  that  he  was  in  the  w  top,  *  and  that 
it  was  there  he  would  see  them.  The  ambassadors,  whose 
feet  were  unaccustomed  to  rope  ladders,  tried  to  excuse 
themselves  from  mounting;  but  it  was  all  in  vain.  The 
Czar  would  receive  them  in  the  <(  top n  or  not  at  all.  At 
last  they  were  compelled  to  ascend,  and  the  meeting 
took  place  on  that  narrow  place  high  up  in  the  air.  The 
Czar  received  them  there  with  as  much  majesty  as  though 
he  had  been  upon  his  throne,  listened  to  their  harangue, 
replied  very  graciously,  and  then  laughed  at  the  fear 
painted  upon  their  faces,  and  good-humoredly  gave  them 
to  understand  that  he  had  punished  them  thus  for  arriv- 
ing so  late. 

After  this  the  Czar  passed  into  England,  curious  to  see 
and  learn  as  much  as  possible;  and,  having  well  fulfilled 
his  views  repaired  into  Holland.  He  wished  to  visit 
France,  but  the  King  civilly  declined  to  receive  him. 
He  went,  therefore,  much  mortified,  to  Vienna  instead. 
Three  weeks  after  his  arrival  he  was  informed  of  a  con- 
spiracy that  had  been  formed  against  him  in  Moscow. 
He  hastened  there  at  once,  and  found  that  it  was  headed 
by  his  own  sister;  he  put  her  in  prison,  and  hanged  her 
most  guilty  accomplices  to  the  bars  of  his  windows,  as 
many  each  day  as  the  bars  would  hold.  I  have  related 
at  once  all  that  regards  the  Czar  for  this  year,  in  order 
not  to  leap  without  ceasing  from  one  matter  to  another; 
I  shall  do  this,  and  for  the  same  reason,  with  that  which 
follows. 

The  King  of  England  was,  as  I  have  before  said,  at 
the  height  of  satisfaction  at  having  been  recognized  by 
the  King  (Louis  XIV.),  and  at  finding  himself  secure 
upon  the  throne.  But  a  usurper  is  never  tranquil  and 


132  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

content.  William  was  annoyed  by  the  residence  of  the 
legitimate  King  and  his  family  at  Saint  Germains.  It 
was  too  close  to  the  King  (of  France),  and  too  near 
England  to  leave  him  without  disquietude.  He  had  tried 
hard  at  Ryswick  to  obtain  the  dismissal  of  James  II. 
from  the  realm,  or  at  least  from  the  Court  of  France, 
but  without  effect.  Afterward  he  sent  the  Duke  of  St. 
Albans  to  our  King  openly,  in  order  to  compliment  him 
upon  the  marriage  of  the  Due  de  Borgogne,  but  in  reality 
to  obtain  the  dismissal. 

The  Duke  of  St.  Albans  meeting  with  no  success,  the 
Duke  of  Portland  was  sent  to  succeed  him.  The  Duke 
Of  Portland  came  over  with  a  numerous  and  superb  suite ; 
he  kept  up  a  magnificent  table,  and  had  horses,  liveries, 
furniture,  and  dresses  of  the  most  tasteful  and  costly 
kind.  He  was  on  his  way  when  a  fire  destroyed  White- 
hall, the  largest  and  ugliest  palace  in  Europe,  and  which 
has  not  since  been  rebuilt;  so  that  the  kings  are  lodged, 
and  very  badly,  at  St.  James's  Palace. 

Portland  had  his  first  audience  of  the  King  on  the  4th 
of  February,  and  remained  four  months  in  France.  His 
politeness,  his  courtly  and  gallant  manners,  and  the  good 
cheer  he  gave,  charmed  everybody,  and  made  him  uni- 
versally popular.  It  became  the  fashion  to  give  f$tes  in 
his  honor;  and  the  astonishing  fact  is,  that  the  King, 
who  at  heart  was  more  offended  than  ever  with  William 
of  Orange,  treated  this  ambassador  with  the  most  marked 
distinction.  One  evening  he  even  gave  Portland  his  bed- 
room candlestick,  a  favor  only  accorded  to  the  most  con- 
siderable persons,  and  always  regarded  as  a  special  mark 
of  the  King's  bounty. 

Notwithstanding  all  these  attentions,  Portland  was  as 
unsuccessful  as  his  predecessor.  The  King  had  firmly 
resolved  to  continue  his  protection  to  James  II.,  and 
nothing  could  shake  this  determination.  Portland  was 
warned  from  the  first,  that  if  he  attempted  to  speak  to 
the  King  upon  the  point,  his  labor  would  be  thrown  away: 
he  wisely  therefore  kept  silence,  and  went  home  again 
without  in  any  way  having  fulfilled  the  mission  upon 
which  he  had  been  sent. 

We  had  another  distinguished  foreigner  arrive  in  France 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  133 

about  this  time, — I  mean,  the  Prince  of  Parma,  respect- 
ing whom  I  remember  a  pleasant  adventure.  At  Fontaine- 
bleau  more  great  dancing  parties  are  given  than  elsewhere, 
and  Cardinal  d'Estre"es  wished  to  give  one  there  in  honor 
of  this  Prince.  I  and  many  others  were  invited  to  the 
banquet ;  but  the  Prince  himself,  for  whom  the  invitation 
was  specially  provided,  was  forgotten.  The  Cardinal  had 
given  invitations  right  and  left,  but  by  some  omission  the 
Prince  had  not  had  one  sent  to  him.  On  the  morning 
of  the  dinner  this  discovery  was  made.  The  Prince  was 
at  once  sent  to,  but  he  was  engaged,  and  for  several 
days.  The  dinner  therefore  tpok  place  without  him:  the 
Cardinal  was  much  laughed  at  for  his  absence  of  mind. 
He  was  often  similarly  forgetful. 

The  Bishop  of  Poitiers  died  at  the  commencement  of 
this  year,  and  his  bishopric  was  given  at  Easter  to  the 
Abbe"  de  Caudelet.  The  Abbe"  was  a  very  good  man,  but 
made  himself  an  enemy,  who  circulated  the  blackest  cal- 
umnies against  him.  Among  other  impostures  it  was 
said  that  the  Abbe"  had  gambled  all  Good  Friday;  the 
truth  being,  that  in  the  evening,  after  all  the  services 
were  over,  he  went  to  see  the  Mare"chale  de  Cre"qui,  who 
prevailed  upon  him  to  amuse  her  for  an  hour  by  playing 
at  piquet.  But  the  calumny  had  such  effect,  that  the 
bishopric  of  Poitiers  was  taken  from  him,  and  he  retired 
into  Brittany,  where  he  passed  the  rest  of  his  life  in  soli- 
tude and  piety.  His  brother  in  the  meantime  fully 
proved  to  Pere  de  la  Chaise  the  falsehood  of  this  accusa- 
tion ;  and  he,  who  was  upright  and  good,  did  all  he  could 
to  bestow  some  other  living  upon  the  Abbe",  in  recompense 
for  that  he  had  been  stripped  of.  But  the  King  would 
not  consent,  although  often  importuned,  and  even  re- 
proached for  his  cruelty. 

It  was  known,  too,  who  was  the  author  of  the  calumny. 
It  was  the  Abbe"  de  la  Chatre,  who  for  a  long  time  had 
been  chaplain  to  the  King,  and  who  was  enraged  against 
every  one  who  was  made  bishop  before  him.  He  was  a 
man  not  wanting  in  intelligence,  but  bitter,  disagreea- 
ble, punctilious;  very  ignorant,  because  he  would  never 
study,  and  so  destitute  of  morality,  that  I  saw  him  say 
mass  in  the  chapel  on  Ash  Wednesday  after  having 


134  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

passed  the  night,  masked  at  a  ball,  where  he  said  and 
did  the  most  filthy  things,  as  seen  and  heard  by  M.  de 
La  Vrilliere,  before  whom  he  unmasked,  and  who  related 
this  to  me:  half  an  hour  after,  I  met  the  Abbe"  de  la 
Chatre,  dressed  and  going  to  the  altar.  Other  adventures 
had  already  deprived  him  of  all  chance  of  being  made 
bishop  by  the  King. 

The  old  Villars  died  at  this  time.  I  have  already 
mentioned  him  as  having  been  made  chevalier  d'honneur 
to  the  Duchess  de  Chartres  at  her  marriage.  I  mention 
him  now,  because  I  omitted  to  say  before  the  origin  of 
his  name  of  Orondat,  by  which  he  was  generally  known, 
and  which  did  not  displease  him.  This  is  the  circum- 
stance that  gave  rise  to  it.  Madame  de  Choisy,  a  lady  of 
the  fashionable  world,  went  one  day  to  see  the  Comtesse 
de  Fiesque,  and  found  there  a  large  company.  The 
Countess  had  a  young  girl  living  with  her,  whose  name 
was  Mademoiselle  d'Outrelaise,  but  who  was  called  the 
Divine.  Madame  de  Choisy,  wishing  to  go  into  the  bed- 
room, said  she  would  go  there,  and  see  the  Divine. 
Mounting  rapidly,  she  found  in  the  chamber  a  young  and 
very  pretty  girl,  Mademoiselle  Bellefonds,  and  a  man, 
who  escaped  immediately  upon  seeing  her.  The  face  of 
this  man  being  perfectly  well  made,  so  struck  her,  that, 
upon  coming  down  again,  she  said  it  could  only  be  that 
of  Orondat.  Now  that  romances  are  happily  no  longer 
read,  it  is  necessary  to  say  that  Orondat  is  a  character 
in  "Cyrus,*  celebrated  by  his  figure  and  his  good  looks, 
and  who  charmed  all  the  heroines  of  that  romance, 
which  was  then  much  in  vogue.  The  greater  part  of  the 
company  knew  that  Villars  was  upstairs  to  see  Mademoi- 
selle de  Bellefonds,  with  whom  he  was  much  in  love, 
and  whom  he  soon  afterward  married.  Everybody  there- 
fore smiled  at  this  adventure  cf  Orondat,  and  the  name 
clung  ever  afterwards  to  Villars. 

The  Prince  de  Conti  lost,  before  this  time,  his  son, 
Prince  la  Roche"-sur-Yon,  who  was  only  four  years  old. 
The  King  wore  mourning  for  him,  although  it  was  the 
custom  not  to  do  so  for  children  under  seven  years  of  age. 
But  the  King  had  already  departed  from  this  custom  for 
one  of  the  children  of  M.  du  Maine,  and  he  dared  not 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  135 

afterward  act  differently  toward  the  children  of  a  prince 
of  the  blood.  Just  at  the  end  of  September,  M.  du 
Maine  lost  another  child,  his  only  son.  The  King  wept 
very  much,  and  although  the  child  was  considerably 
under  seven  years  of  age,  wore  mourning  for  it.  The 
marriage  of  Mademoiselle  to  M.  de  Lorraine  was  then 
just  upon  the  point  of  taking  place:  and  Monsieur 
(father  of  Mademoiselle)  begged  that  this  mourning 
might  be  laid  aside  when  the  marriage  was  celebrated. 
The  King  agreed,  but  Madame  la  Duchess  and  the 
Princess  de  Conti  believed  it  apparently  beneath  them  to 
render  this  respect  to  Monsieur,  and  refused  to  comply. 
The  King  commanded  them  to  do  so,  but  they  pushed 
the  matter  so  far  as  to  say  that  they  had  no  other 
clothes.  Upon  this,  the  King  ordered  them  to  send  and 
get  some  directly.  They  were  obliged  to  obey,  and  ad- 
mit themselves  vanquished;  but  they  did  so  not  without 
great  vexation.  M.  de  Cambrai's  affair  still  continued  to 
make  a  great  stir  among  the  prelates  and  at  the  Court. 
Madame  Guyon  was  transferred  from  the  Vincennes  to 
the  Bastile,  and  it  was  believed  that  she  would  remain 
there  all  her  life.  The  Dues  de  Chevreuse  and  Beau- 
villiers  lost  all  favor  with  M.  de  Maintenon,  and  nar- 
rowly escaped  losing  the  favor  of  the  King.  An  attempt 
was  in  fact  made,  which  Madame  de  Maintenon  strongly 
supported,  to  get  them  disgraced;  and,  but  for  the  Arch- 
bishop of  Paris,  this  would  have  taken  place.  But  this 
prelate,  thoroughly  upright  and  conscientious,  counseled 
the  King  against  such  a  step,  to  the  great  vexation  of 
his  relations,  who  were  the  chief  plotters  in  the  con- 
spiracy to  overthrow  the  two  dukes.  As  for  M.  de  Cam- 
brai's book,  <(  Les  Maximes  des  Saints,*  it  was  as  little 
liked  as  ever,  and  underwent  rather  a  strong  criticism  at 
this  time  from  M.  de  La  Trappe,  which  did  not  do  much 
to  improve  its  reputation.  At  the  commencement  of  the 
dispute  M.  de  Meaux  had  sent  a  copy  of  (<  Les  Maximes 
des  Saints w  to  M.  de  La  Trappe,  asking  as  a  friend  for 
his  opinion  of  the  work.  M.  de  La  Trappe  read  it  and 
was  much  scandalized.  The  more  he  studied  it,  the  more 
this  sentiment  penetrated  him.  At  last,  after  having  well 
examined  the  book,  he  sent  his  opinion  to  M.  de  Meaux, 


136  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

believing  it  would  be  considered  as  private  and  not  be 
shown  to  anybody.  He  did  not  measure  his  words,  therefore, 
but  wrote  openly,  that  if  M.  de  Cambrai  was  right  he  might 
burn  the  Evangelists,  and  complain  of  Jesus  Christ,  who 
could  have  come  into  the  world  only  to  deceive  us.  The 
frightful  force  of  this  phrase  was  so  terrifying,  that  M. 
de  Meaux  thought  it  worthy  of  being  shown  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon;  and  she,  seeking  only  to  crush  M.  de 
Cambrai  with  all  the  authorities  possible,  would  insist 
upon  this  opinion  of  M.  de  La  Trappe  being  printed. 

It  may  be  imagined  what  triumphing  there  was  on  the 
one  side,  and  what  piercing  cries  on  the  other.  The 
friends  of  M.  de  Cambrai  complained  most  bitterly  that 
M.  de  La  Trappe  had  mixed  himself  up  in  the  matter, 
and  had  passed  such  a  violent  and  cruel  sentence  upon 
a  book  then  under  the  consideration  of  the  Pope.  M.  de 
La  Trappe  on  his  side  was  much  afflicted  that  his  letter 
had  been  published.  He  wrote  to  M.  de  Meaux  protest- 
ing against  this  breach  of  confidence;  and  said  that, 
although  he  had  only  expressed  what  he  really  thought, 
he  should  have  been  careful  to  use  more  measured  lan- 
guage, had  he  supposed  his  letter  would  have  seen  the 
light.  He  said  all  he  could  to  heal  the  wounds  his  words 
had  caused,  but  M.  de  Cambrai  and  his  friends  never  for- 
gave him  for  having  written  them. 

This  circumstance  caused  much  discussion;  and  M.  de 
La  Trappe,  to  whom  I  was  passionately  attached,  was 
frequently  spoken  of  in  a  manner  that  caused  me  much 
annoyance.  Riding  out  one  day  in  a  coach  with  some 
of  my  friends,  the  conversation  took  this  turn.  I  listened 
in  silence  for  some  time,  and  then,  feeling  no  longer  able 
to  support  the  discourse,  desired  to  be  set  down,  so  that 
my  friends  might  talk  at  their  ease,  without  pain  to  me. 
They  tried  to  retain  me,  but  I  insisted  and  carried  my 
point.  Another  time,  Charost,  one  of  my  friends,  spoke 
so  disdainfully  of  M.  de  La  Trappe,  and  I  replied  to  him 
with  such  warmth,  that  on  the  instant  he  was  seized  with 
a  fit,  tottered,  stammered,  his  throat  swelled,  his  eyes 
seemed  starting  from  his  head,  and  his  tongue  from  his 
mouth  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  and  the  other  ladies 
who  were  present  flew  to  his  assistance;  one  unfastened 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  137 

his  cravat  and  his  shirt  collar,  another  threw  a  jug  of 
water  over  him  and  made  him  drink  something;  but  as 
for  me,  I  was  struck  motionless  at  the  sudden  change 
brought  about  by  an  excess  of  anger  and  infatuation. 
Charost  was  soon  restored,  and  when  he  left  I  was  taken 
to  task  by  the  ladies.  In  reply  I  simply  smiled.  I  gained 
this  by  the  occurrence,  that  Charost  never  committed 
himself  again  upon  the  subject  of  M.  de  La  Trappe. 

Before  quitting  this  theme,  I  will  relate  an  anecdote 
which  has  found  belief.  It  has  been  said,  that  when  M. 
de  La  Trappe  was  the  Abbe*  de  Ranee  he  was  much  in 
love  with  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Montbazon,  and  that 
he  was  well  treated  by  her.  On  one  occasion  after  leav- 
ing her,  in  perfect  health,  in  order  to  go  into  the  coun- 
try, he  learned  that  she  had  fallen  ill.  He  hastened  back, 
entered  hurriedly  into  her  chamber,  and  the  first  sight  he 
saw  there  was  her  head,  that  the  surgeons,  in  opening 
her,  had  separated  from  her  body.  It  was  the  first  inti- 
mation he  had  had  that  she  was  dead,  and  the  surprise 
and  horror  of  the  sight  so  converted  him  that  immedi- 
ately afterward  he  retired  from  the  world.  There  is 
nothing  true  in  all  this  except  the  foundation  upon  which 
the  fiction  arose.  I  have  frankly  asked  M.  de  La  Trappe 
upon  this  matter,  and  from  him  I  have  learned  that  he 
was  one  of  the  friends  of  Madame  de  Montbazon,  but 
that  so  far  from  being  ignorant  of  the  time  of  her  death, 
he  was  by  her  side  at  the  time,  administered  the  Sac- 
rament to  her,  and  had  never  quitted  her  during  the 
few  days  she  was  ill.  The  truth  is,  her  sudden  death  so 
touched  him,  that  it  made  him  carry  out  his  intention  of 
retiring  from  the  world  —  an  intention,  however,  he  had 
formed  for  many  years. 

The  affair  of  M.  de  Cambrai  was  not  finally  settled 
until  the  commencement  of  the  following  year,  1699,  but 
went  on  making  more  noise  day  by  day.  At  the  date  I 
have  named  the  verdict  from  Rome  arrived.  Twenty- 
three  propositions  of  the  (<  Maximcs  dcs  Saints  w  were  de- 
clared rash,  dangerous,  erroneous, —  in  globe, —  and  the 
Pope  excommunicated  those  who  read  the  book  or  kept  it 
in  their  houses.  The  King  was  much  pleased  with  this 
condemnation,  and  openly  expressed  his  satisfaction. 


138       MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

Madame  de  Maintenon  appeared  at  the  summit  of  joy. 
As  for  M.  de  Cambrai,  he  learned  his  fate  in  a  moment 
which  would  have  overwhelmed  a  man  with  less  resources 
in  himself.  He  was  on  the  point  of  mounting  into  the 
pulpit;  he  was  by  no  means  troubled;  put  aside  the  ser- 
mon he  had  prepared,  and,  without  delaying  a  moment, 
took  for  subject  the  submission  due  to  the  Church; 
he  treated  this  theme  in  a  powerful  and  touching  manner ; 
announced  the  condemnation  of  his  book;  retracted  the 
opinions  he  had  professed;  and  concluded  his  sermon  by 
a  perfect  acquiescence  and  submission  to  the  judgment 
the  Pope  had  just  pronounced.  Two  days  afterward  he 
published  his  retraction,  condemned  his  book,  prohibited 
the  reading  of  it,  acquiesced  and  submitted  himself  anew 
to  his  condemnation,  and  in  the  clearest  terms  took  away 
from  himself  all  means  of  returning  to  his  opinions.  A 
submission  so  prompt,  so  clear,  so  perfect,  was  generally 
admired,  although  there  were  not  wanting  censors  who 
wished  he  had  shown  less  readiness  in  giving  way.  His 
friends  believed  the  submission  would  be  so  flattering  to  the 
Pope,  that  M.  de  Cambrai  might  rely  upon  advancement 
to  a  cardinalship,  and  steps  were  taken,  but  without  any 
good  result,  to  bring  about  that  event. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

Charnace — An  Odd  Ejectment — A  Squabble  at  Cards  —  Birth  of  My 
Son  —  The  Camp  at  Compiegne  —  Splendor  of  Marechal  Boufflers  — 
Pique  of  the  Ambassadors  —  Tesse's  Gray  Hat  —  A  Sham  Siege — A 
Singular  Scene  —  The  King  and  Madame  de  Maintenon  —  An  Aston- 
ished Officer —  Breaking  up  of  the  Camp. 

ABOUT  this  time  the  King  caused  Charnace*  to  be  ar- 
rested in  a  province  to  which  he  had  been  banished. 
He  was  accused  of  many  wicked  things,  and,  among 
others,  of  coining.  Charnace'  was  a  lad  of  spirit,  who 
had  been  page  to  the  King  and  officer  in  the  bodyguard. 
Having  retired  to  his  own  house,  he  often  played  off 
many  a  prank.  One  of  these  I  will  mention,  as  being 
full  of  wit  and  very  laughable. 

He  had  a  very  long  and  perfectly  beautiful  avenue 
before  his  house  in  Anjou,  but  in  the  midst  of  it  were 
the  cottage  and  garden  of  a  peasant;  and  neither  Char- 
nace' nor  his  father  before  him,  could  prevail  upon  the 
man  to  remove,  although  they  offered  him  large  sums. 
Charnace'  at  last  determined  to  gain  his  point  by  strata- 
gem. The  peasant  was  a  tailor,  and  lived  all  alone, 
without  wife  or  child.  One  day  Charnace"  sent  for  him, 
said  he  wanted  a  court  suit  in  all  haste,  and,  agreeing 
to  lodge  and  feed  him,  stipulated  that  he  should  not 
leave  the  house  until  it  was  done.  The  tailor  agreed, 
and  set  himself  to  the  work.  While  he  was  thus  occupied, 
Charnace"  had  the  dimensions  of  his  house  and  garden 
taken  with  the  utmost  exactitude;  made  a  plan  of  the 
interior,  showing  the  precise  position  of  the  furniture 
and  the  utensils;  and,  when  all  was  done,  pulled  down 
the  house  and  removed  it  a  short  distance  off. 

Then  it  was  arranged  as  before  with  a  similar  looking 
garden,  and  at  the  same  time  the  spot  on  which  it  had 
previously  stood  was  smoothed  and  leveled.  All  this  was 
done  before  the  suit  was  finished.  The  work  being  at 

(139) 


Uo  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

length  over  on  both  sides,  Charnace"  amused  the  tailor 
until  it  was  quite  dark,  paid  him,  and  dismissed  him 
content.  The  man  went  on  his  way  down  the  avenue: 
but,  finding  the  distance  longer  than  usual,  looked  about, 
and  perceived  he  had  gone  too  far.  Returning,  he 
searched  diligently  for  his  house,  but  without  being  able 
to  find  it.  The  night  passed  in  this  exercise.  When  the 
day  came,  he  rubbed  his  eyes,  thinking  they  might  have 
been  in  fault;  but  as  he  found  them  as  clear  as  usual, 
began  to  believe  that  the  devil  had  carried  away  his 
house,  garden,  and  all.  By  dint  of  wandering  to  and  fro, 
and  casting  his  eyes  in  every  direction,  he  saw  at  last  a 
house  which  was  as  like  to  his  as  are  two  drops  of  water 
to  each  other.  Curiosity  tempted  him  to  go  and  examine 
it.  He  did  so,  and  became  convinced  it  was  his  own. 
He  entered,  found  everything  inside  as  he  had  left  it, 
and  then  became  quite  persuaded  he  had  been  tricked 
by  a  sorcerer.  The  day  was  not,  however,  very  far  ad- 
vanced before  he  learned  the  truth  through  the  banter 
of  his  neighbors.  In  fury  he  talked  of  going  to  law, 
of  demanding  justice,  but  was  laughed  at  everywhere. 
The  King  when  he  heard  of  it  laughed  also,  and  Char- 
nace"  had  his  avenue  free.  If  he  had  never  done  any- 
thing worse  than  this,  he  would  have  preserved  his 
reputation  and  his  liberty. 

A  strange  scene  happened  at  Meudon  after  supper  one 
evening,-  toward  the  end  of  July.  The  Prince  de 
Conti  and  the  Grand  Prieur  were  playing,  and  a  dis- 
pute arose  respecting  the  game.  The  Grand  Prieur, 
inflated  by  pride  on  account  of  the  favors  the  King  had 
showered  upon  him,  and  rendered  audacious  by  being 
placed  almost  on  a  level  with  the  princes  of  the  blood, 
used  words  which  would  have  been  too  strong  even 
toward  an  equal.  The  Prince  de  Conti  answered  by  a 
repartee,  in  which  the  other's  honesty  at  play  and  his 
courage  in  war  —  both  in  truth,  little  to  boast  about  — 
were  attacked.  Upon  this  the  Grand  Prieur  flew  in  a 
passion,  flung  away  the  cards,  and  demanded  satisfaction, 
sword  in  hand.  The  Prince  de  Conti,  with  a  smile  of 
contempt  reminded  him  that  he  was  wanting  in  respect 
and  at  the  same  time  said  he  could  have  the  satisfaction 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  141 

he  asked  for  whenever  he  pleased.  The  arrival  of 
Monseigneur,  in  his  dressing  gown,  put  an  end  to  the 
fray.  He  ordered  the  Marquis  de  Gesvres,  who  was  one 
of  the  courtiers  present,  to  report  the  whole  affair  to  the 
King,  and  that  everyone  should  go  to  bed.  On  the 
morrow  the  King  was  informed  of  what  had  taken  place, 
and  immediately  ordered  the  Grand  Prieur  to  go  to  the 
Bastile.  He  was  obliged  to  obey,  and  remained  in  con- 
finement several  days.  The  affair  made  a  great  stir  at 
Court.  The  princes  of  the  blood  took  a  very  high  tone, 
and  the  illegitimates  were  much  embarrassed.  At  last, 
on  the  7th  of  August,  the  affair  was  finally  accommo- 
dated through  the  intercession  of  Monseigneur.  The 
Grand  Prieur  demanded  pardon  of  the  Prince  de  Conti 
in  the  presence  of  his  brother,  M.  de  Vendome,  who  was 
obliged  to  swallow  this  bitter  draught,  although  against 
his  will,  in  order  to  appease  the  princes  of  the  blood, 
who  were  extremely  excited. 

Nearly  at  the  same  time,  that  is  to  say,  on  the  2pth  of 
May,  in  the  morning  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  was  happily 
delivered  of  a  child.  God  did  us  the  grace  to  give  us  a 
son.  He  bore,  as  I  had  the  name  of  Vidame  of  Chartres. 
I  do  not  know  why  people  have  the  fancy  for  these  odd 
names,  but  they  seduce  in  all  nations,  and  they  who  feel 
the  triviality  of  them,  imitate  them.  It  is  true  that  the 
titles  of  Count  and  Marquis  have  fallen  into  the  dust  be- 
cause of  the  quantity  of  people  without  wealth,  and  even 
without  land,  who  usurp  them;  and  that  they  have  be- 
come so  worthless,  that  people  of  quality  who  are  mar- 
quises or  counts  (if  they  will  permit  me  to  say  it),  are 
silly  enough  to  be  annoyed  if  those  titles  are  given  to 
them  in  conversation.  It  is  certain,  however,  that  these 
titles  emanated  from  landed  creations,  and  that  in  their 
origin  they  had  functions  attached  to  them,  which  they 
have  since  outlived.  The  vidames,  on  the  contrary,  were 
only  principal  officers  of  certain  bishops,  with  authority 
to  lead  all  the  rest  of  their  seigneur's  vassals  to  the  field, 
either  to  fight  against  other  lords,  or  in  the  armies  that 
our  kings  used  to  assemble  to  combat  their  enemies  be- 
fore the  creation  of  a  standing  army  put  an  end  to  the 
employment  of  vassals  (there  being  no  further  need  for 


142  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

them),  and  to  all  the  power  and  authority  of  the  seign- 
eurs. There  is  thus  no  comparison  between  the  title  of 
Vidame,  which  only  marks  a  vassal,  and  the  titles  which 
by  fief  emanate  from  the  King.  Yet  because  the  few 
Vidames  who  have  been  known  were  illustrious,  the  name 
has  appeared  grand,  and  for  this  reason  was  given  to  me, 
and  afterward  by  me  to  my  son. 

Some  little  time  before  this,  the  King  resolved  to  show 
all  Europe,  which  believed  his  resources  exhausted  by  a 
long  war,  that  in  the  midst  of  profound  peace,  he  was  as 
fully  prepared  as  ever  for  arms.  He  wished  at  the  same 
time,  to  present  a  superb  spectacle  to  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  under  pretext  of  teaching  the  young  Due  de 
Bourgogne  his  first  lesson  in  war.  He  gave  all  the 
necessary  orders,  therefore,  for  forming  a  camp  at  Com- 
piegne,  to  be  commanded  by  the  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers 
under  the  young  duke.  On  Thursday,  the  28th  of  August, 
all  the  Court  set  out  for  the  camp.  Sixty  thousand  men 
were  assembled  there.  The  King,  as  at  the  marriage  of 
the  Due  de  Bourgogne,  had  announced  that  he  counted 
upon  seeing  the  troops  look  their  best.  The  consequence 
of  this  was  to  excite  the  army  to  an  emulation  that  was 
repented  of  afterward.  Not  only  were  the  troops  in  such 
beautiful  order  that  it  was  impossible  to  give  the  palm 
to  any  one  corps,  but  their  commanders  added  the  finery 
and  magnificence  of  the  Court  to  the  majestic  and  war- 
like beauty  of  the  men,  of  the  arms,  and  of  the  horses; 
and  the  officers  exhausted  their  means  in  uniforms  which 
would  have  graced  a  f$te. 

Colonels,  and  even  simple  captains,  kept  open  table; 
but  the  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers  outstripped  everybody  by 
his  expenditure,  by  his  magnificence,  and  his  good  taste. 
Never  was  seen  a  spectacle  so  transcendent  —  so  dazzling 
—  and,  it  must  be  said,  so  terrifying.  At  all  hours,  night 
or  day,  the  Mar6chal's  table  was  open  to  every  comer  — 
whether  officer,  courtier,  or  spectator.  All  were  welcomed 
and  invited,  with  the  utmost  civility  and  attention  to  par- 
take of  the  good  things  provided.  There  was  every  kind 
of  hot  and  cold  liquors ;  everything  which  can  be  the  most 
widely,  and  the  most  splendidly  comprehended  under  the 
term  refreshment:  French  and  foreign  wines,  and  the 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  143 

rarest  liquors  in  the  utmost  abundance.  Measures  were 
so  well  taken  that  quantities  of  game  and  venison  arrived 
from  all  sides ;  and  the  seas  of  Normandy,  of  Holland,  of 
England,  of  Brittany,  even  the  Mediterranean,  furnished 
all  they  contained  —  the  most  unheard-of,  extraordinary, 
and  most  exquisite  —  at  a  given  day  and  hour  with  inimit- 
able order,  and  by  a  prodigious  number  of  horsemen  and 
little  express  carriages.  Even  the  water  was  fetched  from 
Sainte  Reine,  from  the  Seine,  and  from  sources  the  most 
esteemed;  and  it  is  impossible  to  imagine  anything  of 
any  kind  which  was  not  at  once  ready  for  the  most  obscure 
as  for  the  most  distinguished  visitor,  the  guest  most  ex- 
pected, and  the  guest  not  expected  at  all.  Wooden  houses 
and  magnificent  tents  stretched  all  around,  in  number 
sufficient  to  form  a  camp  of  themselves,  and  were  fur- 
nished in  the  most  superb  manner,  like  the  houses  in 
Paris.  Kitchens  and  rooms  for  every  purpose  were  there, 
and  the  whole  was  marked  by  an  order  and  cleanliness 
that  excited  surprise  and  admiration.  The  King,  wishing 
that  the  magnificence  of  this  camp  should  be  seen  by  the 
ambassadors,  invited  them  there,  and  provided  lodgings 
for  them.  But  the  ambassadors  claimed  a  silly  distinc- 
tion, which  the  King  would  not  grant,  and  they  refused 
his  invitation.  This  distinction  I  call  silly  because  it 
brings  no  advantage  with  it  of  any  kind.  I  am  ignorant 
of  its  origin,  but  this  is  what  it  consists  in:  When,  as 
upon  such  an  occasion  as  this,  lodgings  are  allotted  to 
the  Court,  the  quartermaster  writes  in  chalk,  (<for  Mon- 
sieur Such-a-one, M  upon  those  intended  for  Princes  of  the 
blood,  cardinals,  and  foreign  princes;  but  for  none  other. 
The  King  would  not  allow  the  "  for  w  to  be  written  upon 
the  lodgings  of  the  ambasssadors ;  and  the  ambassadors, 
therefore,  kept  away.  The  King  was  much  piqued  at 
this,  and  I  heard  him  say  at  supper,  that  if  he  treated 
them  as  they  deserved,  he  should  only  allow  them  to  come 
to  Court  at  audience  times,  as  was  the  custom  every- 
where else. 

The  King  arrived  at  the  camp  on  Saturday,  the  3oth 
of  August,  and  went  with  the  Due  and  Duchess  de 
Bourgogne  and  others  to  the  quarters  of  Mare"chal  de 
Boufflers,  where  a  magnificent  collation  was  served  up  to 


H4  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

them  —  so  magnificent  that  when  the  King  returned,  he 
said  it  would  be  useless  for  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  to 
attempt  anything  so  splendid ;  and  that  whenever  he  went 
to  camp  he  ought  to  dine  with  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers. 
In  effect,  the  King  himself  soon  after  dined-  there,  and 
led  to  the  Marshal's  table  the  King  of  England,  who 
was  passing  three  or  four  days  in  the  camp.  On  these 
occasions  the  King  pressed  Mare*chal  de  Boufflers  to  be 
seated.  He  would  never  comply,  but  waited  upon  the 
King  while  the  Due  de  Grammont,  his  brother-in-law, 
waited  upon  Monseigneur. 

The  King  amused  himself  much  in  pointing  out  the 
disposition  of  the  troops  to  the  ladies  of  the  Court,  and 
in  the  evening  showed  them  a  grand  review. 

A  very  pleasant  adventure  happened  at  this  review  to 
Count  Tesse",  colonel  of  dragoons.  Two  days  previously 
M.  de  Lauzun,  in  the  course  of  chitchat  asked  him  how 
he  intended  to  dress  at  the  review;  and  persuaded  him 
that,  it  being  the  custom,  he  must  appear  at  the  head  of 
his  troops  in  a  gray  hat,  or  that  he  would  assuredly  dis- 
please the  King.  Tesse\  grateful  for  this  information, 
and  ashamed  of  his  ignorance,  thanked  M.  de  Lauzun, 
and  sent  off  for  a  hat  in  all  haste  to  Paris.  The  King, 
as  M.  de  Lauzun  well  knew,  had  an  aversion  to  gray, 
and  nobody  had  worn  it  for  several  years.  When,  there- 
fore, on  the  day  of  the  review  he  saw  Tesse"  in  a  hat  of 
that  color,  with  a  black  feather,  and  a  huge  cockade 
dangling  and  flaunting  above,  he  called  to  him,  and  asked 
him  why  he  wore  it.  Tesse*  replied  that  it  was  the  priv- 
ilege of  the  colonel-general  to  wear  that  day  a  gray  hat. 
"A  gray  hat,"  replied  the  King,  "where  the  devil  did 
you  learn  that  ?  w  <(  From  M.  de  Lauzun,  Sire,  for  whom 
you  created  the  charge,*  said  Tesse",  all  embarrassment. 
On  the  instant,  the  good  Lauzun  vanished,  bursting  with 
laughter,  and  the  King  assured  Tesse"  that  M.  de  Lauzun 
had  merely  been  joking  with  him.  I  never  saw  a  man 
so  confounded  as  Tesse"  at  this.  He  remained  with  down- 
cast eyes,  looking  at  his  hat,  with  a  sadness  and  confu- 
sion that  rendered  the  scene  perfect.  He  was  obliged  to 
treat  the  matter  as  a  joke,  but  was  for  a  long  time  much 
tormented  about  it,  and  much  ashamed  of  it. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  145 

Nearly  every  day  the  Princes  dined  with  Mare*chal  de 
Boufflers,  whose  splendor  and  abundance  knew  no  end. 
Everybody  who  visited  him,  even  the  humblest,  was 
served  with  liberality  and  attention.  All  the  villages 
and  farms  for  four  leagues  round  Compiegne  were  filled 
with  people,  French,  and  foreigners,  yet  there  was  no 
disorder.  The  gentlemen  and  valets  at  the  Marshal's 
quarters  were  of  themselves  quite  a  world,  each  more 
polite  than  his  neighbor,  and  all  incessantly  engaged 
from  five  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  ten  and  eleven 
o'clock  at  night,  doing  the  honors  to  various  guests.  I 
return  in  spite  of  myself  to  the  Marshal's  liberality ;  be- 
cause, who  ever  saw  it,  cannot  forget,  or  ever  cease  to 
be  in  a  state  of  astonishment  and  admiration  at  its  abun- 
dance and  sumptuousness,  or  at  the  order,  never  deranged 
for  a  moment  at  a  single  point,  that  prevailed. 

The  King  wished  to  show  the  Court  all  the  manoeuvres 
of  war;  the  siege  of  Compiegne  was  therefore  under- 
taken, according  to  due  form,  with  lines,  trenches,  bat- 
teries, mines,  etc.  On  Saturday,  the  i3th  of  September, 
the  assault  took  place.  To  witness  it,  the  King,  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  all  the  ladies  of  the  Court,  and  a  number 
of  gentlemen,  stationed  themselves  upon  an  old  rampart, 
from  which  the  plain  and  all  the  disposition  of  the  troops 
could  be  seen.  I  was  in  the  half  circle  very  close  to  the 
King.  It  was  the  most  beautiful  sight  that  can  be 
imagined,  to  see  all  that  army,  and  the  prodigious  number 
of  spectators  on  horse  and  foot,  and  that  game  of  attack 
and  defense  so  cleverly  conducted. 

But  a  spectacle  of  another  sort,  that  I  could  paint  forty 
years  hence  as  well  as  to-day,  so  strongly  did  it  strike 
me,  was  that  which  from  the  summit  of  this  rampart 
the  King  gave  to  all  his  army,  and  to  the  innumerable 
crowd  of  spectators  of  all  kinds  in  the  plain  below. 
Madame  de  Maintenon  faced  the  plain  and  the  troops  in 
her  sedan  chair  —  alone,  between  its  three  windows  drawn 
up  —  her  porters  having  retired  to  a  distance.  On  the 
left  pole  in  front  sat  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bourgogne; 
and  on  the  same  side,  in  a  semicircle,  standing,  were  Ma- 
dame la  Duchess,  Madame  la  Princess  de  Conti,  and  all  the 
ladies,  and  behind  them  again,  many  men.  At  the  right 

10 


H6  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

window  was  the  King,  standing,  and  a  little  in  the  rear, 
a  semicircle  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of  the  Court. 
The  King  was  nearly  always  uncovered;  and  every  now 
and  then  stooped  to  speak  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and 
explain  to  her  what  she  saw,  and  the  reason  of  each 
movement.  Each  time  that  he  did  so  she  was  obliging 
enough  to  open  the  window  four  or  five  inches,  but 
never  half  way;  for  I  noticed  particularly,  and  I  admit 
that  I  was  more  attentive  to  this  spectacle  than  to  that 
of  the  troops.  Sometimes  she  opened  of  her  own  accord 
to  ask  some  question  of  him,  but  generally  it  was  he 
who,  without  waiting  for  her,  stooped  down  to  instruct 
her  of  what  was  passing;  and  sometimes,  if  she  did  not 
notice  him,  he  tapped  at  the  glass  to  make  her  open  it. 
He  never  spoke,  save  to  her,  except  when  he  gave  a  few 
brief  orders,  or  just  answered  Madame  la  Duchess  de 
Bourgogne,  who  wanted  to  make  him  speak,  and  with 
whom  Madame  de  Maintenon  carried  on  a  conver- 
sation by  signs,  without  opening  the  front  window, 
through  which  the  young  Princess  screamed  to  her  from 
time  to  time.  I  watched  the  countenance  of  every  one 
carefully;  all  expressed  surprise  tempered  with  prudence 
and  shame,  that  was,  as  it  were,  ashamed  of  itself:  every- 
one behind  the  chair  and  in  the  semicircle,  watched  this 
scene  more  than  what  was  going  on  in  the  army.  The 
King  often  put  his  hat  on  the  top  of  the  chair  in  order 
to  get  his  head  in  to  speak;  and  this  continual  exercise 
tired  his  loins  very  much.  Monseigneur  was  on  horse- 
back in  the  plain  with  the  young  Princes.  It  was  about 
five  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  and  the  weather  was  as 
brilliant  as  could  be  desired. 

Opposite  the  sedan  chair  was  an  opening  with  some 
steps  cut  through  the  wall,  and  communicating  with  the 
plain  below.  It  had  been  made  for  the  purpose  of  fetch- 
ing orders  from  the  King,  should  they  be  necessary. 
The  case  happened.  Crenan,  who  commanded,  sent  Con- 
iliac,  an  officer  in  one  of  the  defending  regiments,  to  ask 
for  some  instructions  from  the  King.  Conillac  had  been 
stationed  at  the  foot  of  the  rampart,  where  what  was 
passing  above  could  not  be  seen.  He  mounted  the  steps ; 
and  as  soon  as  his  head  and  shoulders  were  at  the  top, 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  147 

caught  sight  of  the  chair,  the  King,  and  all  the  assem- 
bled company.  He  was  not  prepared  for  such  a  scene, 
and  it  struck  him  with  such  astonishment,  that  he  stopped 
short,  with  mouth  and  eyes  wide  open  —  surprise  painted 
upon  every  feature.  I  see  him  now  as  distinctly  as  I 
did  then.  The  King,  as  well  as  all  the  rest  of  the  company, 
remarked  the  agitation  of  Conillac,  and  said  to  him  with 
emotion,  <(  Well,  Conillac!  come  up,w  Conillac  remained 
motionless,  and  the  King  continued,  <(  Come  up.  What 
is  the  matter  ?w  Conillac,  thus  addressed,  finished  his 
ascent,  and  came  toward  the  King  with  slow  and  trem- 
bling steps,  rolling  his  eyes  from  right  to  left  like  one 
deranged.  Then  he  stammered  something,  but  in  a  tone 
so  low,  that  it  could  not  be  heard.  (<  What  do  you 
say  ?ft  cried  the  King.  <(  Speak  up. })  But  Conillac  was 
unable ;  and  the  King  finding  he  could  get  nothing  out 
of  him,  told  him  to  go  away.  He  did  not  need  to  be 
told  twice,  but  disappeared  at  once.  As  soon  as  he  was 
gone,  the  King  looking  round,  said,  <(  I  don't  know  what 
is  the  matter  with  Conillac.  He  has  lost  his  wits;  he 
did  not  remember  what  he  had  to  say  to  me."  No  one 
answered. 

Toward  the  moment  of  the  capitulation,  Madame  de 
Maintenon  apparently  asked  permission  to  go  away,  for 
the  King  cried,  <(  The  chairmen  of  Madame ! w  They 
came  and  took  her  away;  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  afterward  the  King  retired  also,  and  nearly  every- 
body else.  There  was  much  interchange  of  glances, 
nudging  with  elbows,  and  then  whisperings  in  the  ear. 
Everybody  was  full  of  what  had  taken  place  on  the  ram- 
parts between  the  King  and  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
Even  the  soldiers  asked  what  meant  that  sedan  chair  and 
the  King  every  moment  stooping  to  put  his  head  inside 
of  it.  It  became  necessary  gently  to  silence  these  ques- 
tions of  the  troops.  What  effect  this  sight  had  upon 
foreigners  present,  and  what  they  said  of  it  may  be 
imagined.  All  over  Europe  it  was  as  much  talked  of  as 
the  camp  of  Compiegne  itself,  with  all  its  pomp  and  pro- 
digious splendor. 

The  last  act  of  this  great  drama  was  a  sham  fight. 
The  execution  was  perfect;  but  the  commander,  Rose, 


148       MEMOIRS  OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

who  was  supposed  to  be  beaten,  would  not  yield.  Mare"- 
chal  de  Boufflers  sent  and  told  him  more  than  once  that 
it  was  time.  Rose  flew  in  a  passion  and  would  not  obey. 
The  King  laughed  much  at  this,  and  said,  <(  Rose  does 
not  like  to  be  beaten. w  At  last  he  himself  sent  the  order 
for  retreat.  Rose  was  forced  then  to  comply;  but  he 
did  it  with  a  very  bad  grace,  and  abused  the  bearer  of  the 
order. 

The  King  left  the  camp  on  Monday  the  22d  of  Sep- 
tember, much  pleased  with  the  troops.  He  gave  in  part- 
ing, six  hundred  francs  to  each  cavalry  captain,  and  three 
hundred  francs  to  each  captain  of  infantry.  He  gave  as 
much  to  the  majors  of  all  the  regiments,  and  distributed 
some  favors  to  his  household.  To  Mar6chal  de  Boufflers 
he  presented  one  hundred  thousand  francs.  All  these 
gifts  together  amounted  to  something:  but  separately 
were  as  mere  drops  of  water.  There  was  not  a  single 
regiment  that  was  not  ruined,  officers  and  men,  for  sev- 
eral years.  As  for  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers,  I  leave  it  to 
be  imagined  what  a  hundred  thousand  francs  were  to 
him  whose  magnificence  astounded  all  Europe,  described 
as  it  was  by  foreigners  who  were  witnesses  of  it,  and 
who  day  after  day  could  scarcely  believe  their  own  eyes. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Gervaise,  Monk  of  La  Trappe  —  His  disgusting  Profligacy — The  Author 
of  the  Lord's  Prayer  —  A  Struggle  for  Precedence  —  Mme.  de  Saint- 
Simon  —  The  end  of  the  Quarrel  —  Death  of  the  Chevalier  de  Coislin 
— A  ludicrous  Incident — Death  of  Racine — The  King  and  the  Poet — 
King  pays  Debts  of  Courtiers  —  Impudence  of  M.  de  Vendome  —  A 
mysterious  Murder  —  Extraordinary  Theft. 

HERE  I  will  relate  an  adventure,  which  shows  that, 
however  wise  and  enlightened  a  man  may  be,  he 
is  never  infallible.  M.  de  La  Trappe  had  selected 
from  among  his  brethren  one  who  was  to  be  his  succes- 
sor. The  name  of  this  monk  was  D.  Frangois  Gervaise. 
He  had  been  in  the  monastery  for  some  years,  had  lived 
regularly  during  that  time,  and  had  gained  the  confidence 
of  M.  de  La  Trappe.  As  soon,  however,  as  he  received 
this  appointment,  his  manners  began  to  change.  He 
acted  as  though  he  were  already  master,  brought  dis- 
order and  ill  feeling  into  the  monastery,  and  sorely 
grieved  M.  de  La  Trappe;  who,  however  looked  upon 
this  affliction  as  the  work  of  heaven,  and  meekly  resigned 
himself  to  it.  At  last,  Frangois  Gervaise  was  by  the 
merest  chance  detected  openly,  under  circumstances  which 
blasted  his  character  forever.  His  companion  in  guilt 
was  brought  before  M.  de  La  Trappe,  to  leave  no  doubt 
upon  the  matter.  D.  Frangois  Gervaise,  utterly  pros- 
trated, resigned  his  office,  and  left  La  Trappe.  Yet  even 
after  this,  he  had  the  hardihood  to  show  himself  in  the 
world,  and  to  try  and  work  himself  into  the  favor  of 
Pere  La  Chaise.  A  discovery  that  was  made,  effectually 
stopped  short  his  hopes  in  this  direction.  A  letter  of  his 
was  found,  written  to  a  nun  with  whom  he  had  been 
intimate,  whom  he  loved,  and  by  whom  he  was  passion- 
ately loved.  It  was  a  tissue  of  filthiness  and  stark  in- 
decency, enough  to  make  the  most  abandoned  tremble. 
The  pleasures,  the  regrets,  the  desires,  the  hopes  of  this 

(149) 


150  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

precious  pair,  were  all  expressed  in  the  boldest  language, 
and  with  the  utmost  license.  I  believe  that  so  many 
abominations  are  not  uttered  in  several  days,  even  in  the 
worst  places.  For  this  offense  Gervaise  might  have  been 
confined  in  a  dungeon  all  his  life,  but  he  was  allowed  to 
go  at  larg-e.  He  wandered  from  monastery  to  monastery 
for  five  or  six  years,  and  always  caused  so  much  dis- 
order wherever  he  stopped,  that  at  last  the  superiors 
thought  it  best  to  let  him  live  as  he  liked  in  a  curacy  of 
his  brother's.  He  never  ceased  troubling  La  Trappe,  to 
which  he  wished  to  return;  so  that  at  last  I  obtained  a 
lettre  de  cachet^  which  prohibited  him  from  approaching 
within  thirty  leagues  of  the  abbey,  and  within  twenty  of 
Paris.  It  was  I  who  made  known  to  him  that  his  abomi- 
nations had  been  discovered.  He  was  in  no  way  dis- 
turbed, declared  he  was  glad  to  be  free,  and  assured  me 
with  the  hypocrisy  which  never  left  him,  that  in  his  soli- 
tude he  was  going  to  occupy  himself  in  studying  the  Holy 
Scriptures. 

Bonnoeil,  introducer  of  the  ambassadors,  being  dead, 
Breteuil  obtained  his  post.  Breteuil  was  not  without  in- 
tellect, but  aped  courtly  manners,  called  himself  Baron 
de  Breteuil,  and  was  much  tormented  and  laughed  at  by 
his  friends.  One  day,  dining  at  the  house  of  Madame 
de  Pontchartrain,  and,  speaking  very  authoritatively, 
Madame  de  Pontchartrain  disputed  with  him,  and,  to  test 
his  knowledge,  offered  to  make  a  bet  that  he  did  not 
know  who  wrote  the  Lord's  Prayer.  He  defended  him- 
self as  well  as  he  was  able,  and  succeeded  in  leaving  the 
table  without  being  called  upon  to  decide  the  point. 
Caumartin,  who  saw  his  embarrassment,  ran  to  him,  and 
kindly  whispered  in  his  ear  that  Moses  was  the  author 
of  the  Lord's  Prayer.  Thus  strengthened,  Breteuil  re- 
turned to  the  attack,  brought,  while  taking  coffee,  the 
conversation  back  again  to  the  bet;  and,  after  reproach- 
ing Madame  de  Pontchartrain  for  supposing  him  ignorant 
upon  such  a  point,  and  declaring  he  was  ashamed  of 
being  obliged  to  say  such  a  trivial  thing,  pronounced 
emphatically  that  it  was  Moses  who  had  written  the 
Lord's  Prayer.  The  burst  of  laughter  that,  of  course, 
followed  this,  overwhelmed  him  with  confusion.  Poor 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  151 

Breteuil  was  for  a  long  time  at  loggerheads  with  his 
friends,  and  the  Lord's  Prayer  became  a  standing  re- 
proach to  him. 

He  had  a  friend,  the  Marquis  de  Gesvres,  who,  upon 
some  points,  was  not  much  better  informed.  Talking  one 
day  in  the  cabinet  of  the  King,  and  admiring  in  the 
tone  of  a  connoisseur  some  fine  paintings  of  the  Cruci- 
fixion by  the  first  masters,  he  remarked  that  they  were 
all  by  one  hand. 

He  was  laughed  at,  and  the  different  painters  were 
named,  as  recognized  by  their  style. 

(<  Not  at  all,*  said  the  Marquis,  <(  the  painter  is  called 
INRI;  do  you  not  see  his  name  upon  all  the  pictures  ?w 
What  followed  after  such  gross  stupidity  and  ignorance 
may  be  imagined. 

At  the  end  of  this  year  the  King  resolved  to  under- 
take three  grand  projects,  which  ought  to  have  been  carried 
out  long  before:  the  chapel  of  Versailles,  the  church  of 
the  Invalide,  and  the  altar  of  Notre  Dame  de  Paris. 
This  last  was  a  vow  of  Louis  XIII.,  made  when  he  no 
longer  was  able  to  accomplish  it,  and  which  he  had  left 
to  his  successor,  who  had  been  more  than  fifty  years 
without  thinking  of  it. 

On  the  6th  of  January,  upon  the  reception  of  the  am- 
bassadors at  the  house  of  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne,  an 
adventure  happened  which  I  will  here  relate.  M.  de 
Lorraine  belonged  to  a  family  which  had  been  noted  for 
its  pretensions,  and  for  the  disputes  of  precedency  in 
which  it  engaged.  He  was  as  prone  to  this  absurdity  as 
the  rest,  and  on  this  occasion  incited  the  Princess  d'Har- 
court,  one  of  his  relations,  to  act  in  a  manner  that  scan- 
dalized all  the  Court.  Entering  the  room  in  which  the 
ambassadors  were  to  be  received  and  where  a  large 
number  of  ladies  were  already  collected,  she  glided  behind 
the  Duchess  de  Rohan,  and  told  her  to  pass  to  the  left. 
The  Duchess  de  Rohan,  much  surprised,  replied,  that  she 
was  very  well  placed  already.  Whereupon  the  Princess 
d'Harcourt,  who  was  tall  and  strong,  made  no  further  ado, 
but  with  her  two  arms  seized  the  Duchess  de  Rohan, 
turned  her  round,  and  sat  down  in  her  place.  All  the 
ladies  were  strangely  scandalized  at  this,  but  none  dared 


152  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

say  a  word,  not  even  Madame  de  Lude,  lady  in  waiting 
on  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne,  who,  for  her  part  also,  felt 
the  insolence  of  the  act,  but  dared  not  speak,  being  so 
young.  As  for  the  Duchess  de  Rohan,  feeling  that  oppo- 
sition must  lead  to  fisticuffs,  she  curtesied  to  the  Duchess, 
and  quietly  retired  to  another  place.  A  few  minutes  after 
this,  Madame  de  Saint-Simon,  who  was  then  with  child, 
feeling  herself  unwell,  and  tired  of  standing,  seated  her- 
self upon  the  first  cushion  she  could  find.  It  so  happened, 
that  in  the  position  she  thus  occupied,  she  had  taken 
precedence  of  Madame  d'Armagnac  by  two  degrees. 
Madame  d'Armagnac,  perceiving  it,  spoke  to  her  upon 
the  subject.  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  who  had  only  placed 
herself  there  for  a  moment,  did  not  reply,  but  went  else- 
where. 

As  soon  as  I  learned  of  the  first  adventure,  I  thought 
it  important  that  such  an  insult  should  not  be  borne,  and 
I  went  and  conferred  with  M.  de  la  Rochefoucauld  upon 
the  subject,  at  the  same  time  that  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers 
spoke  of  it  to  M.  de  Noailles.  I  called  upon  other  of  my 
friends,  and  the  opinion  was  that  the  Due  de  Rohan 
should  complain  to  the  King  on  the  morrow  of  the  treat- 
ment his  wife  had  received. 

In  the  evening  while  I  was  at  the  King's  supper,  I 
was  sent  for  by  Madame  de  Saint-Simon,  who  informed 
me  that  the  Lorraines,  afraid  of  the  complaints  that 
would  probably  be  addressed  to  the  King  upon  what  had 
taken  place  between  the  Princess  d'Harcourt  and  the 
Duchess  de  Rohan,  had  availed  themselves  of  what  hap- 
pened between  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  and  Madame 
d'Armagnac,  in  order  to  be  the  first  to  complain,  so  that 
one  might  balance  the  other.  Here  was  a  specimen  of 
the  artifice  of  these  gentlemen,  which  much  enraged  me. 
On  the  instant  I  determined  to  lose  no  time  in  speaking 
to  the  King;  and  that  very  evening  I  related  what  had 
occurred,  in  so  far  as  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  was  con- 
cerned, but  made  no  allusion  to  M.  de  Rohan's  affair, 
thinking  it  best  to  leave  that  to  be  settled  by  itself  on 
the  morrow.  The  King  replied  to  me  very  graciously, 
and  I  retired,  after  assuring  him  that  all  I  had  said  was 
true  from  beginning  to  end. 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  153 

The  next  day  the  Due  de  Rohan  made  his  complaint. 
The  King  who  had  already  been  fully  informed  of  the 
matter,  received  him  well,  praised  the  respect  and  mod- 
eration of  Madame  de  Rohan,  declared  Madame  d'Har- 
court  to  have  been  very  impertinent,  and  said  some  very 
hard  words  upon  the  Lorraines. 

I  found  afterward,  that  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who 
much  favored  Madame  d'Harcourt,  had  all  the  trouble  in 
the  world  to  persuade  the  King  not  to  exclude  her  from 
the  next  journey  to  Marly.  She  received  a  severe  repri- 
mand from  the  King,  a  good  scolding  from  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  and  was  compelled  publicly  to  ask  pardon  of 
the  Duchess  de  Rohan.  This  she  did;  but  with  a  crawl- 
ing baseness  equal  to  her  previous  audacity.  Such  was 
the  end  of  this  strange  history. 

There  appeared  at  this  time  a  book  entitled  (<  Prob- 
Kme*  but  without  name  of  author,  and  directed  against 
M.  de  Paris,  declaring  that  he  had  uttered  sentiments 
favorable  to  the  Jansenists  being  at  Chalons,  and  un- 
favorable being  at  Paris.  The  book  came  from  the 
Jesuits,  who  could  not  pardon  M.  de  Paris  for  having 
become  archbishop  without  their  assistance.  It  was  con- 
demned and  burned  by  decree  of  the  Parliament,  and 
the  Jesuits  had  to  swallow  all  the  shame  of  it.  The 
author  was  soon  after  discovered.  He  was  named  Boileau; 
not  the  friend  of  Bontems,  who  so  often  preached  before 
the  King,  and  still  less  the  celebrated  poet  and  author 
of  the  (<  Flagellants, "  but  a  doctor  of  much  wit  and 
learning  whom  M.  de  Paris  had  taken  into  his  favor  and 
treated  like  a  brother.  Who  would  have  believed  that 
(<  Probteme w  could  spring  from  such  a  man  ?  M.  de  Paris 
was  much  hurt;  but  instead  of  imprisoning  Boileau  for 
the  rest  of  his  days,  as  he  might  have  done,  he  acted 
the  part  of  a  great  bishop,  and  gave  him  a  good  canon- 
ical of  Saint  Honor6,  which  became  vacant  a  few  days 
afterward.  Boileau,  who  was  quite  without  means,  com- 
pleted his  dishonor  by  accepting  it. 

The  honest  people  of  the  Court  regretted  a  cynic  who 
died  at  this  time,  I  mean  the  Chevalier  de  Coislin.  He 
was  a  most  extraordinary  man,  very  splenetic,  and  very 
difficult  to  deal  with.  He  rarely  left  Versailles  and 


154  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

never  went  to  see  the  King.  I  have  seen  him  get  out 
of  the  way  not  to  meet  him.  He  lived  with  Cardinal 
Coislin,  his  brother.  If  anybody  displeased  him,  he 
would  go  and  sulk  in  his  own  room;  and  if,  while  at 
table,  anyone  came  whom  he  did  not  like,  he  would 
throw  away  his  plate,  go  off  to  sulk,  or  to  finish  his 
dinner  all  alone.  One  circumstance  will  paint  him 
completely.  Being  on  a  journey  once  with  his  brothers, 
the  Due  de  Coislin  and  the  Cardinal  de  Coislin,  the 
party  rested  for  the  night  at  the  house  of  a  vivacious 
and  very  pretty  bourgeoise.  The  Due  de  Coislin  was  an 
exceedingly  polite  man,  and  bestowed  amiable  compliments 
and  civilities  upon  their  hostess,  much  to  the  disgust  of 
the  Chevalier.  At  parting,  the  Duke  renewed  the  polite- 
ness he  had  displayed  so  abundantly  the  previous  evening, 
and  delayed  the  others  by  his  long-winded  flatteries. 
When,  at  last,  they  left  the  house,  and  were  two  or 
three  leagues  away  from  it,  the  Chevalier  de  Coislin  said, 
that  in  spite  of  all  this  politeness,  he  had  reason  to 
believe  that  their  pretty  hostess  would  not  long  be 
pleased  with  the  Duke.  The  Duke,  disturbed,  asked  his 
reason  for  thinking  so.  "  Do  you  wish  to  learn  it  ? M 
said  the  Chevalier ;  tf  well,  then,  you  must  know  that, 
disgusted  by  your  compliments,  I  went  up  into  the  bed- 
room in  which  you  slept,  and  made  a  filthy  mess  on  the 
floor,  which  the  landlady  will  no  doubt,  attribute  to  you, 
despite  all  your  fine  speeches.* 

At  this  there  was  loud  laughter,  but  the  Duke  was  in 
fury,  and  wished  to  return  in  order  to  clear  up  his  charac- 
ter Although  it  rained  hard,  they  had  all  the  pains  in 
the  world  to  hinder  him,  and  still  more  to  bring  about  a 
reconciliation.  Nothing  was  more  pleasant  than  to  hear 
the  brothers  relate  this  adventure  each  in  his  own  way. 

Two  cruel  effects  of  gambling  were  noticed  at  this 
time.  Reineville,  a  lieutenant  of  the  bodyguard,  a  gen- 
eral officer  distinguished  in  war,  very  well  treated  by 
the  King,  and  much  esteemed  by  the  captain  of  the 
guards,  suddenly  disappeared,  and  could  not  be  found 
anywhere,  although  the  utmost  care  was  taken  to  search 
for  him.  He  loved  gaming.  He  had  lost  what  he  could 
not  pay.  He  was  a  man  of  honor,  and  could  not  sus- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  155 

tain  his  misfortune.  Twelve  or  fifteen  years  afterward 
he  was  recognized  among  the  Bavarian  troops,  in  which 
he  was  serving  in  order  to  gain  his  bread  and  to  live 
unknown.  The  other  case  was  still  worse.  Permillac,  a 
man  of  much  intelligence  and  talent,  had  lost  more  than 
he  possessed,  and  blew  his  brains  out  one  morning  in 
bed.  He  was  much  liked  throughout  the  army;  had 
taken  a  friendship  for  me,  and  I  for  him.  Everybody 
pitied  him,  and  I  much  regretted  him. 

Nearly  at  the  same  time  we  lost  the  celebrated  Racine, 
so  known  by  his  beautiful  plays.  No  one  possessed  a 
greater  talent  or  a  more  agreeable  mien.  There  was 
nothing  of  the  poet  in  his  manners:  he  had  the  air 
of  a  well-bred  and  modest  man,  and  at  last  that  of  a 
good  man.  He  had  friends,  the  most  illustrious,  at  the 
Court  as  well  as  among  men  of  letters.  I  leave  it  to  the 
latter  to  speak  of  him  in  a  better  way  than  I  can.  He 
wrote,  for  the  amusement  of  the  King  and  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  and  to  exercise  the  young  ladies  of  Saint 
Cyr,  two  dramatic  masterpieces,  <(  Esther  w  and  (<Athalie.  * 
They  were  very  difficult  to  write,  because  there  could 
be  no  love  in  them,  and  because  they  are  sacred  tragedies, 
in  which,  from  respect  to  the  Holy  Scriptures,  it  was 
necessary  rigidly  to  keep  to  the  historical  truth.  They 
were  several  times  played  at  Saint  Cyr  before  a  select 
Court.  Racine  was  charged  with  the  history  of  the  King, 
conjointly  with  Despreaux,  his  friend.  This  employment, 
the  pieces  I  have  just  spoken  of,  and  his  friends,  gained 
for  Racine  some  special  favors.  It  sometimes  happened 
that  the  King  had  no  ministers  with  him,  as  on  Fridays, 
and,  above  all,  when  the  bad  weather  of  winter  ren- 
dered the  sittings  very  long;  then  he  would  send  for 
Racine  to  amuse  him  and  Madame  de  Maintenon.  Un- 
fortunately the  poet  was  oftentimes  very  absent.  It 
happened  one  evening  that,  talking  with  Racine  upon 
the  theater,  the  King  asked  why  comedy  was  so  much 
out  of  fashion.  Racine  gave  several  reasons,  and  con- 
cluded by  naming  the  principal, —  namely,  that  for  want 
of  new  pieces  the  comedians  gave  old  ones,  and,  among 
others,  those  of  Scarron,  which  were  worth  nothing,  and 
which  found  no  favor  with  anybody.  At  this  the  poor 


156  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

widow  blushed,  not  for  the  reputation  of  the  cripple 
attacked,  but  at  hearing  his  name  uttered  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  successor!  The  King-  was  also  embarrassed, 
and  the  unhappy  Racine,  by  the  silence  which  followed, 
felt  what  a  slip  he  had  made.  '  He  remained  the  most 
confounded  of  the  three,  without  daring  to  raise  his  eyes 
or  to  open  his  mouth.  This  silence  did  not  terminate 
for  several  moments,  so  heavy  and  profound  was  the 
surprise.  The  end  was  that  the  King  sent  away  Racine, 
saying  he  was  going  to  work.  The  poet  never  after 
recovered  his  position.  Neither  the  King  nor  Madame 
de  Maintenon  ever  spoke  to  him  again,  or  even  looked 
at  him;  and  he  conceived  so  much  sorrow  at  this,  that 
he  fell  into  a  languor,  and  died  two  years  afterward. 
At  his  death,  Valincourt  was  chosen  to  work  in  his  place 
with  Despreaux  upon  the  history  of  the  King. 

The  King,  who  had  just  paid  the  heavy  gaming  and 
tradesmen's  debts  of  Madame  la  Duchess,  paid  also  those 
of  Monseigneur,  which  amounted  to  fifty  thousand  francs, 
undertook  the  payment  of  the  buildings  at  Meudon,  and, 
in  lieu  of  fifteen  hundred  pistoles  a  month  which  he  had 
allowed  Monseigneur,  gave  him  fifty  thousand  crowns. 
M.  de  La  Rochefoucauld,  always  necessitous  and  pitiful 
in  the  midst  of  riches,  a  prey  to  his  servants,  obtained 
an  increase  of  forty-two  thousand  francs  a  year  upon  the 
salary  he  received  as  Grand  Veneur,  although  it  was  but 
a  short  time  since  the  King  had  paid  his  debts.  The 
King  gave  also,  but  in  secret,  twenty  thousand  francs  a 
year  to  M.  de  Chartres,  who  had  spent  so  much  in  jour- 
neys and  building  that  he  feared  he  should  be  unable  to 
pay  his  debts.  He  had  asked  for  an  abbey;  but  as  he 
had  already  one,  the  King  did  not  like  to  give  him 
another,  lest  it  should  be  thought  too  much. 

M.  de  Vendome  began  at  last  to  think  about  his  health, 
which  his  debauches  had  thrown  into  a  very  bad  state. 
He  took  public  leave  of  the  King  and  of  all  the  Court 
before  going  away,  to  put  himself  in  the  hands  of  the 
doctors.  It  was  the  first  and  only  example  of  such 
impudence.  From  this  time  he  lost  ground.  The  King 
said,  at  parting,  that  he  hoped  he  would  come  back  in 
such  a  state  that  people  might  kiss  him  without  danger! 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  157 

His  going  in  triumph,  where  another  would  have  gone 
in  shame  and  secrecy,  was  startling  and  disgusting.  He 
was  nearly  three  months  under  the  most  skillful  treat- 
ment—  and  returned  to  the  Court  with  half  his  nose,  his 
teeth  out,  and  a  physiognomy  entirely  changed,  almost 
idiotic.  The  King  was  so  much  struck  by  this  change, 
that  he  recommended  the  courtiers  not  to  appear  to 
notice  it,  for  fear  of  afflicting  M.  de  Vendome.  That 
was  taking  much  interest  in  him  assuredly.  As,  more- 
over, he  had  departed  in  triumph  upon  this  medical 
expedition,  so  he  returned  triumphant  by  the  reception 
of  the  King,  which  was  imitated  by  all  the  Court.  He 
remained  only  a  few  days,  and  then,  his  mirror  telling 
sad  tales,  went  away  to  Anet,  to  see  if  nose  and  teeth 
would  come  back  to  him  with  his  hair. 

A  strange  adventure,  which  happened  at  this  time, 
terrified  everybody,  and  gave  rise  to  many  surmises. 
Savary  was  found  assassinated  in  his  house  at  Paris:  he 
kept  only  a  valet  and  maidservant,  and  they  were  dis- 
covered murdered  at  the  same  time,  quite  dressed,  like 
their  master,  and  in  different  parts  of  the  house.  It  ap- 
peared by  writings  found  there,  that  the  crime  was  one 
of  revenge :  it  was  supposed  to  have  been  committed  in 
broad  daylight.  Savary  was  a  citizen  of  Paris,  very  rich, 
without  occupation,  and  lived  like  an  epicurean.  He  had 
some  friends  of  the  highest  rank,  and  gave  parties,  of 
all  kinds  of  pleasure,  at  his  house,  politics  sometimes 
being  discussed.  The  cause  of  this  assassination  was 
never  known ;  but  so  much  of  it  was  found  out,  that  no 
one  dared  to  search  for  more.  Few  doubted  but  that 
the  deed  had  been  done  by  a  very  ugly  little  man,  but 
of  a  blood  so  highly  respected,  that  all  forms  were  dis- 
pensed with,  in  the  fear  lest  it  should  be  brought  home 
to  him ;  and,  after  the  first  excitement,  everybody  ceased 
to  speak  of  this  tragic  history. 

On  the  night  between  the  3d  and  4th  of  June,  a  dar- 
ing robbery  was  effected  at  the  grand  stables  of  Versailles. 
All  the  horse  cloths  and  trappings,  worth  at  least  fifty 
thousand  crowns,  were  carried  off,  and  so  cleverly  and 
with  such  speed,  although  the  night  was  short,  that  no 
traces  of  them  could  ever  afterward  be  found.  This 


1 58  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

theft  reminds  me  of  another  which  took  place  a  little 
before  the  commencement  of  these  "Memoirs."  The 
grand  apartment  at  Versailles,  that  is  to  say,  from  the 
gallery  to  the  tribune,  was  hung  with  crimson  velvet, 
trimmed  and  fringed  with  gold.  One  fine  morning  the 
fringe  and  trimmings  were  all  found  to  have  been  cut 
away.  This  appeared  extraordinary  in  a  place  so  fre- 
quented all  day,  so  well  closed  at  night,  and  so  well 
guarded  at  all  times.  Bontems,  the  King's  valet,  was  in 
despair,  and  did  his  utmost  to  discover  the  thieves, 
but  without  success. 

Five  or  six  days  afterward,  I  was  at  the  King's  sup- 
per, with  nobody  but  Daquin,  chief  physician,  between 
the  King  and  ME,  and  nobody  at  all  between  ME  and 
the  table.  Suddenly  I  perceived  a  large  black  form  in  the 
air,  but  before  I  could  tell  what  it  was,  it  fell  upon  the 
end  of  the  King's  table  just  before  the  cover  which  had 
been  laid  for  Monsigneur  and  Madame.  By  the  noise  it 
made  in  falling,  and  the  weight  of  the  thing  itself,  it 
seemed  as  though  the  table  must  be  broken.  The  plates 
jumped  up,  but  none  were  upset,  and  the  thing,  as  luck 
would  have  it,  did  not  fall  upon  any  of  them,  but  simply 
upon  the  cloth.  The  King  moved  his  head  half  round, 
and  without  being  moved  in  any  way  said,  <(  I  think  that 
is  my  fringe!" 

It  was  indeed  a  bundle,  larger  than  a  flat-brimmed 
priest's  hat,  about  two  feet  in  height,  and  shaped  like  a 
pyramid.  It  had  come  from  behind  me,  from  toward  the 
middle  door  of  the  two  ante-chambers,  and  a  piece  of 
fringe  getting  loose  in  the  air,  had  fallen  upon  the  King's 
wig,  from  which  it  was  removed  by  Livry,  a  gentleman- 
in-waiting.  Livry  also  opened  the  bundle,  and  saw  that 
it  did  indeed  contain  the  fringes  all  twisted  up,  and 
everybody  saw  likewise.  A  murmur  was  heard.  Livry 
wishing  to  take  away  the  bundle  found  a  paper  attached 
to  it.  He  took  the  paper  and  left  the  bundle.  The 
King  stretched  out  his  hand  and  said,  <(  Let  us  see.  * 
Livry,  and  with  reason,  would  not  give  up  the  paper, 
but  stepped  back,  read  it,  and  then  passed  it  to  Daquin, 
in  whose  hands  I  read  it.  The  writing,  counterfeited 
and  long  like  that  of  a  woman,  was  in  these  words: — 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  159 

<(  Take  back  your  fringes,  Bontems ;  they  are  not  worth 
the  trouble  of  keeping  —  my  compliments  to  the  King." 

The  paper  was  rolled  up,  not  folded;  the  King  wished 
to  take  it  from  Daquin,  who,  after  much  hesitation,  al- 
lowed him  to  read  it,  but  did  not  let  it  out  of  his  hands. 
"  Well,  that  is  very  insolent !  *  said  the  King,  but  in 
quite  a  placid  unmoved  tone  —  as  it  were,  an  historical 
tone.  Afterward  he  ordered  the  bundle  to  be  taken  away. 
Livry  found  it  so  heavy  that  he  could  scarcely  lift  it 
from  the  table,  and  gave  it  to  an  attendant  who  pre- 
sented himself.  The  King  spoke  no  more  of  this  matter, 
nobody  else  dared  to  do  so;  and  the  supper  finished  as 
though  nothing  had  happened. 

Besides  the  excess  of  insolence  and  impudence  of  this 
act,  it  was  so  perilous  as  to  be  scarcely  understood. 
How  could  any  one,  without  being  seconded  by  accom- 
plices, throw  a  bundle  of  this  weight  and  volume  in  the 
midst  of  a  crowd  such  as  was  always  present  at  the  sup- 
per of  the  King,  so  dense  that  it  could  with  difficulty  be 
passed  through  ?  How,  in  spite  of  a  circle  of  accom- 
plices, could  a  movement  of  the  arms  necessary  for  such 
a  throw  escape  all  eyes  ?  The  Due  de  Gesvres  was  in 
waiting.  Neither  he  nor  anybody  else  thought  of  closing 
the  doors  until  the  King  had  left  the  table.  It  may  be 
guessed  whether  the  guilty  parties  remained  until  then, 
having  had  more  than  three-quarters  of  an  hour  to  es- 
cape, and  every  issue  being  free.  Only  one  person  was 
discovered,  who  was  not  known,  but  he  proved  to  be  a 
very  honest  man,  and  was  dismissed  after  a  short  deten- 
tion. Nothing  has  since  been  discovered  respecting  this 
theft  or  its  bold  restitution. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

The  Farrier  of  Salon  —  Apparition  of  a  Queen  —  The  Farrier  comes  to 
Versailles  —  Revelations  to  the  Queen  —  Supposed  Explanation  — 
New  Distinctions  to  the  Bastards  —  New  Statue  of  the  King  — 
Disappointment  of  Harlay — Honesty  of  Chamillart — The  Comtesse 
de  Fiesque  —  Daughter  of  Jacquier  —  Impudence  of  Saumery  — 
Amusing  Scene  —  Attempted  Murder. 

ON  THE  1 2th  of  August,  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  was 
happily  delivered  of  a  second  son,  who  bore  the 
name  of  Marquis  de  Ruffec.  A  singular  event 
which  happened  soon  after,  made  all  the  world  marvel. 

There  arrived  at  Versailles  a  farrier,  from  the  little 
town  of  Salon,  in  Provence,  who  asked  to  see  the  King 
in  private.  In  spite  of  the  rebuffs  he  met  with,  he 
persisted  in  his  request,  so  that  at  last  it  got  to  the 
ears  of  the  King.  The  King  sent  word  that  he  was  not 
accustomed  to  grant  such  audiences  to  whoever  liked  to 
ask  for  them.  Thereupon  the  farrier  declared  that  if  he 
was  allowed  to  see  the  King  he  would  tell  him  things  so 
secret  and  so  unknown  to  everybody  else  that  he  would 
be  persuaded  of  their  importance,  demanding,  if  the 
King  would  not  see  him,  to  be  sent  to  a  minister  of 
state.  Upon  this  the  King  allowed  him  to  have  an  inter- 
view with  one  of  his  secretaries,  Barbezieux.  But  Bar- 
bezieux  was  not  a  minister  of  state,  and  to  the  great 
surprise  of  everybody,  the  farrier,  who  had  only  just 
arrived  from  the  country,  and  who  had  never  before  left 
it  or  his  trade,  replied,  that  not  being  a  minister  of  state 
he  would  not  speak  with  him.  Upon  this  he  was  allowed 
to  see  Pomponne,  and  converse  with  him  ;  and  this  is 
the  story  he  told: 

He  said,  that  returning  home  late  one  evening  he  found 
himself  surrounded  by  a  great  light,  close  against  a  tree 
and  near  Salon.  A  woman  clad  in  white  —  but  altogether 
in  a  royal  manner,  and  beautiful,  fair,  and  very  dazzling 
—  called  him  by  his  name,  commanded  him  to  listen  to 
(160) 


MEMOIRS  OF  THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON       161 

her,  and  spoke  to  him  more  than  half  an  hour.  She  told 
him  she  was  the  Queen,  who  had  been  the  wife  of  the 
King ;  to  whom  she  ordered  him  to  go  and  say  what  she 
had  communicated;  assuring  him  that  God  would  assist 
him  through  all  the  journey,  and  that  upon  a  secret 
thing  he  should  say,  the  King,  who  alone  knew  that 
secret,  would  recognize  the  truth  of  all  he  littered.  She 
said  that  in  case  he  could  not  see  the  King  he  was  to 
speak  to  a  minister  of  state,  telling  him  certain  things, 
but  reserving  certain  others  for  the  King  alone.  She 
told  him,  moreover,  to  set  out  at  once,  assuring  him  he 
would  be  punished  with  death  if  he  neglected  to  acquit 
himself  of  his  commission.  The  farrier  promised  to  obey 
her  in  everything,  and  the  Queen  then  disappeared.  He 
found  himself  in  darkness  near  the  tree.  He  laid  down 
and  passed  the  night  there,  scarcely  knowing  whether  he 
was  awake  or  asleep.  In  the  morning  he  went  home, 
persuaded  that  what  he  had  seen  was  a  mere  delusion 
and  folly,  and  said  nothing  about  it  to  a  living  soul. 

Two  days  afterward  he  was  passing  by  the  same  place 
when  the  same  vision  appeared  to  him,  and  he  was  ad- 
dressed in  the  same  terms.  Fresh  threats  of  punishment 
were  uttered  if  he  did  not  comply,  and  he  was  ordered 
to  go  at  once  to  the  Intendant  of  the  province,  who  would 
assuredly  furnish  him  with  money,  after  saying  what  he 
had  seen.  This  time  the  farrier  was  convinced  that  there 
was  no  delusion  in  the  matter;  but,  halting  between 
his  fears  and  doubts,  knew  not  what  to  do,  told  no  one 
what  had  passed,  and  was  in  great  perplexity.  He  re- 
mained thus  eight  days,  and  at  last  had  resolved  not  to 
make  the  journey;  when,  passing  by  the  same  spot,  he 
saw  and  heard  the  same  vision,  which  bestowed  upon 
him  so  many  dreadful  menaces  that  he  no  longer  thought 
of  anything  but  setting  out  immediately.  In  two  days 
from  that  time  he  presented  himself,  at  Aix,  to  the  In- 
tendant of  the  province,  who,  without  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, urged  him  to  pursue  his  journey,  and  gave  him 
sufficient  money  to  travel  by  a  public  conveyance.  Noth- 
ing more  of  the  story  was  ever  known. 

The  farrier  had  three  interviews  with  M.  de  Pom- 
ponne,  each  of  two  hours'  length.  M.  de  Pomponne 
ii 


162  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

rendered,  in  private,  an  account  of  these  to  the  King, 
who  desired  him  to  speak  more  fully  upon  the  point  in 
a  council  composed  of  the  Dues  de  Beauvilliers,  Pont- 
chartrain,  Torcy,  and  Pomponne  himself ;  Monseigneur  to 
be  excluded.  This  council  sat  very  long,  perhaps  be- 
cause other  things  were  spoken  of.  Be  that  as  it  may, 
the  King  after  this  wished  to  converse  with  the  farrier, 
and  did  so  in  his  cabinet.  Two  days  afterward  he  saw 
the  man  again,  at  each  time  was  nearly  an  hour 
with  him,  and  was  careful  that  no  one  was  within  hear- 
ing. 

The  day  after  the  first  interview,  as  the  King  was  de- 
scending the  staircase,  to  go  a  hunting,  M.  de  Duras, 
who  was  in  waiting,  and  who  was  upon  such  a  footing 
that  he  said  almost  what  he  liked,  began  to  speak  of 
this  farrier  with  contempt,  and,  quoting  the  bad  proverb 
said,  "  The  man  was  mad,  or  the  King  was  not  noble.  * 
At  this  the  King  stopped,  and,  turning  round,  a  thing 
he  scarcely  ever  did  in  walking,  replied,  <(If  that  be  so 
I  am  not  noble,  for  I  have  discoursed  with  him  long, 
he  has  spoken  to  me  with  much  good  sense,  and  I  as- 
sure you  he  is  far  from  being  mad." 

These  last  words  were  pronounced  with  a  sustained  grav- 
ity which  greatly  surprised  those  near,  and  which  in  the 
midst  of  deep  silence  opened  all  eyes  and  ears.  After 
the  second  interview  the  King  felt  persuaded  that  one 
circumstance  had  been  related  to  him  by  the  farrier, 
which  he  alone  knew,  and  which  had  happened  more 
than  twenty  years  before.  It  was  that  he  had  seen  a 
phantom  in  the  forest  of  Saint  Germains.  Of  this  phan- 
tom he  had  never  breathed  a  syllable  to  anybody. 

The  King  on  several  other  occasions  spoke  favorably 
of  the  farrier;  moreover,  he  paid  all  the  expenses  the 
man  had  been  put  to,  gave  him  a  gratuity,  sent  him 
back  free,  and  wrote  to  the  Intendant  of  the  province  to 
take  particular  care  of  him,  and  never  let  him  want  for 
anything  all  his  life. 

The  most  surprising  thing  of  all  this  is,  that  none  of 
the  ministers  could  be  induced  to  speak  a  word  upon  the 
occurrence.  Their  most  intimate  friends  continually  ques- 
tioned them,  but  without  being  able  to  draw  forth  a 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  163 

syllable.  The  ministers  either  affected  to  laugh  at  the 
matter  or  answered  evasively.  This  was  the  case  when- 
ever I  questioned  M.  de  Beauvilliers  or  M.  de  Pontchar- 
train,  and  I  knew  from  their  most  intimate  friends  that 
nothing  more  could  ever  be  obtained  from  M.  de  Pom- 
ponne  or  M.  de  Torcy.  As  for  the  farrier  himself,  he 
was  equally  reserved.  He  was  a  simple,  honest,  and 
modest  man,  about  fifty  years  of  age.  Whenever  addressed 
upon  this  subject,  he  cut  short  all  discourse  by  saying, 
(<  I  am  not  allowed  to  speak, w  and  nothing  more  could  be 
extracted  from  him.  When  he  returned  to  his  home  he 
conducted  himself  just  as  before,  gave  himself  no  airs, 
and  never  boasted  of  the  interview  he  had  had  with  the 
King  and  his  ministers.  He  went  back  to  his  trade,  and 
worked  at  it  as  usual. 

Such  is  the  singular  story  which  filled  everybody  with 
astonishment,  but  which  nobody  could  understand.  It  is 
true  that  some  people  persuaded  themselves,  and  tried  to 
persuade  others,  that  the  whole  affair  was  a  clever  trick, 
of  which  the  simple  farrier  had  been  the  dupe.  They 
said  that  a  certain  Madame  Arnoul,  who  passed  for  a 
witch,  and  who,  having  known  Madame  de  Maintenon 
when  she  was  Madame  Scarron,  still  kept  up  a  secret 
intimacy  with  her,  had  caused  the  three  visions  to  appear 
to  the  farrier,  in  order  to  oblige  the  King  to  declare 
Madame  de  Maintenon  queen.  But  the  truth  of  the  mat- 
ter was  never  known. 

The  King  bestowed  at  this  time  some  more  distinctions 
on  his  illegitimate  children.  M.  du  Maine,  as  grand- 
master of  the  artillery,  had  to  be  received  at  the  Cham- 
bre  des  Comptes;  and  his  place  ought  to  have  been, 
according  to  custom,  immediately  above  that  of  the 
senior  member.  But  the  King  wished  him  to  be  put 
between  the  first  and  second  president;  and  this  was 
done.  The  King  accorded  also  to  the  Princess  de  Conti 
that  her  two  ladies  of  honor  should  be  allowed  to  sit  at 
the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne's  table.  It  was  a  privilege 
that  no  lady  of  honor  to  a  princess  of  the  blood  had 
ever  been  allowed.  But  the  King  gave  these  distinctions 
to  the  ladies  of  his  illegitimate  children,  and  refused  it 
to  those  of  the  princesses  of  the  blood. 


164  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

In  thus  according  honors,  the  King  seemed  to  merit 
some  new  ones  himself.  But  nothing  fresh  could  be 
thought  of.  What  had  been  done  therefore  at  this  statue 
in  the  Place  des  Victoires,  was  done  over  again  in  the 
Place  Vendome  on  the  ijth  of  August,  after  midday.  An- 
other statue  which  had  been  erected  there  was  uncovered. 
The  Due  de  Gesvres,  Governor  of  Paris,  was  in  attend- 
ance on  horseback,  at  the  head  of  the  city  troops,  and 
made  turns,  and  reverences,  and  other  ceremonies,  imi- 
tated from  those  in  use  at  the  consecration  of  the  Roman 
emperors.  There  were,  it  is  true,  no  incense  and  no 
victims;  something  more  in  harmony  with  the  title  of 
Christian  King  was  necessary.  In  the  evening,  there 
was  upon  the  river  a  fine  illumination,  which  Monsieur 
and  Madame  went  to  see. 

A  difficulty  arose  soon  after  this  with  Denmark.  The 
Prince  Royal  had  become  King,  and  announced  the  cir- 
cumstance to  our  King,  but  would  not  receive  the  reply 
sent  him  because  he  was  not  styled  in  it  (<  Majesty. M  We 
had  never  accorded  to  the  Kings  of  Denmark  this  title, 
and  they  had  always  been  contented  with  that  of  <(  Se- 
renity. w  The  King  in  his  turn  would  not  wear  mourning 
for  the  King  of  Denmark,  just  dead,  although  he  always 
did  so  for  any  crowned  head,  whether  related  to  him  or 
not.  This  state  of  things  lasted  some  months;  until,  in 
the  end,  the  new  King  of  Denmark  gave  way,  received 
the  reply  as  it  had  been  first  sent,  and  our  King  wore 
mourning  as  if  the  time  for  it  had  not  long  since  passed. 

Boucherat,  chancellor  and  keeper  of  the  seals,  died  on 
the  2d  of  September.  Harlay,  as  I  have  previously  said, 
had  been  promised  this  appointment  when  it  became 
vacant.  But  the  part  he  had  taken  in  our  case  with  M:  de 
Luxembourg  had  made  him  to  lose  ground,  that  the  ap- 
pointment was  not  given  to  him.  M.  de  La  Rochefoucauld, 
above  all,  had  undermined  him  in  the  favor  of  the  King ; 
and  none  of  us  had  lost  an  opportunity  of  assisting  in  this 
work.  Our  joy,  therefore,  was  extreme  when  we  saw  all 
Harlay's  hopes  frustrated,  and  we  did  not  fail  to  let  it 
burst  forth.  The  vexation  that  Harley  conceived  was  so 
great,  that  he  became  absolutely  intractable,  and  often 
cried  out  with  a  bitterness  he  could  not  contain,  that  he 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  165 

should  be  left  to  die  in  the  dust  of  the  palace.  His 
weakness  was  such,  that  he  could  not  prevent  himself  six 
weeks  after  from  complaining  to  the  King  at  Fontaine- 
bleau,  where  he  was  playing  the  valet  with  his  accustomed 
suppleness  and  deceit.  The  King  put  him  off  with  fine 
speeches,  and  by  appointing  him  to  take  part  in  a  com- 
mission then  sitting  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  about  a 
reduction  in  the  price  of  corn  in  Paris  and  suburbs,  where 
it  had  become  very  dear.  Harlay  made  a  semblance  of 
being  contented,  but  remained  not  the  less  annoyed.  His 
health  and  his  head  were  at  last  so  much  attacked  that  he 
was  forced  to  quit  his  post:  he  then  fell  into  contempt 
after  having  excited  so  much  hatred.  The  chancellorship 
was  given  to  Pontchartrain,  and  the  office  of  comptroller- 
general,  which  became  vacant  at  the  same  time,  was  given 
to  Chamillart,  a  very  honest  man,  who  owed  his  first 
advancement  to  his  skill  at  billiards,  of  which  game  the 
King  was  formerly  very  fond.  It  was  while  Chamillart 
was  accustomed  to  play  billiards  with  the  King,  at  least 
three  times  a  week,  that  an  incident  happened  that  ought 
not  to  be  forgotten.  Chamillart  was  Counselor  of  the 
Parliament  at  that  time.  He  had  just  reported  on  a  case 
that  had  been  submitted  to  him.  The  losing  party  came 
to  him,  and  complained  that  he  had  omitted  to  bring  for- 
ward a  document  that  had  been  given  into  his  hands,  and 
that  would  assuredly  have  turned  the  verdict.  Chamillart 
searched  for  the  document,  found  it,  and  saw  that  the 
complainer  was  right.  He  said  so,  and  added, — (<  I  do  not 
know  how  the  document  escaped  me,  but  it  decides  in 
your  favor.  You  claimed  twenty  thousand  francs,  and  it 
is  my  fault  you  did  not  get  them.  Come  to-morrow,  and 
I  will  pay  you. w  Chamillart,  although  then  by  no  means 
rich,  scraped  together  all  the  money  he  had,  borrowing  the 
rest,  and  paid  the  man  as  he  had  promised,  only  demand- 
ing that  the  matter  should  be  kept  a  secret.  But  after 
this,  feeling  that  billiards  three  times  a  week  interfered 
with  his  legal  duties,  he  surrendered  part  of  them,  and 
thus  left  himself  more  free  for  other  charges  he  was 
obliged  to  attend  to. 

The  Comtesse  de  Fiesque  died  very  aged,  while  the  Court 
was  at  Fontainebleau  this  year.   She  had  passed  her  life  with 


166  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

the  most  frivolous  of  the  great  world.  Two  incidents 
among  a  thousand  will  characterize  her.  She  was  very 
straitened  in  her  means,  because  she  had  frittered  away 
all  her  substance,  or  allowed  herself  to  be  pillaged  by 
her  business  people.  When  those  beautiful  mirrors  were 
first  introduced  she  obtained  one,  although  they  were 
then  very  dear  and  very  rare.  (<Ah,  Countess ! "  said 
her  friends,  (<  where  did  you  find  that?  * 

"Oh!*  replied  she,  <(  I  had  a  miserable  piece  of  land, 
which  only  yielded  me  corn;  I  have  sold  it,  and  I  have 
this  mirror  instead.  Is  it  not  excellent?  Who  would 
hesitate  between  corn  and  this  beautiful  mirror?" 

On  another  occasion  she  harangued  with  her  son,  who 
was  as  poor  as  a  rat,  for  the  purpose  of  persuading  him 
to  make  a  good  match  and  thus  enrich  himself.  Her  son, 
who  had  no  desire  to  marry,  allowed  her  to  talk  on,  and 
pretended  to  listen  to  her  reasons.  She  was  delighted  — 
entered  into  a  description  of  the  wife  she  destined  for 
him,  painting  her  as  young,  rich,  an  only  child,  beauti- 
ful, well  educated,  and  with  parents  who  would  be  de- 
lighted to  agree  to  the  marriage.  When  she  had  finished, 
he  pressed  her  for  the  name  of  this  charming  and  de- 
sirable person.  The  Countess  said  she  was  the  daughter 
of  Jacquier,  a  man  well  known  to  everybody,  and  who 
had  been  a  contractor  of  provisions  to  the  armies  of  M. 
de  Turenne.  Upon  this,  her  son  burst  out  into  a  hearty 
laugh,  and  she  in  anger  demanded  why  he  did  so,  and 
what  he  found  so  ridiculous  in  the  match. 

The  truth  was,  Jacquier  had  no  children,  as  the 
Countess,  soon  remembered.  At  which  she  said  it  was  a 
great  pity,  since  no  marriage  would  have  better  suited 
all  parties.  She  was  full  of  such  oddities,  which  she 
persisted  in  for  some  time  with  anger,  but  at  which  she 
was  the  first  to  laugh.  People  said  of  her  that  she  had 
never  been  more  than  eighteen  years  old.  The  memoirs 
of  Mademoiselle  paint  her  well.  She  lived  with  Made- 
moiselle, and  passed  all  her  life  in  quarrels  about  trifles. 

It  was  immediately  after  leaving  Fontainebleau  that  the 
marriage  between  the  Due  and  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  was 
consummated.  It  was  upon  this  occasion  that  the  King 
named  four  gentlemen  to  wait  upon  the  Duke, —  four  who 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  167 

in  truth  could  not  have  been  more  badly  chosen.  One  of 
them,  Gamaches,  was  a  gossip,  who  never  knew  what  he 
was  doing  or  saying  —  who  knew  nothing  of  the  world,  or 
the  Court,  or  of  war,  although  he  had  always  been  in  the 
army.  D'O  was  another;  but  of  him  I  have  spoken. 
Cheverny  was  the  third,  and  Saumery  the  fourth.  Sau- 
mery  had  been  raised  put  of  obscurity  by  M.  de  Beau- 
villiers.  Never  was  man  so  intriguing,  so  truckling,  so 
boastful,  so  ambitious,  so  intent  upon  fortune ;  and  all  this 
without  disguise,  without  veil,  without  shame!  Saumery 
had  been  wounded,  and  no  man  ever  made  so  much  of 
such  a  mishap.  I  used  to  say  of  him  that  he  limped 
audaciously,  and  it  was  true.  He  would  speak  of  per- 
sonages the  most  distinguished,  whose  antechambers  even 
he  had  scarcely  seen,  as  though  he  spoke  of  his  equals  or 
of  his  particular  friends.  He  related  what  he  had  heard, 
and  was  not  ashamed  to  say  before  people  who  at  least 
had  common  sense,  <(  Poor  MONS.  Turenne  said  to  me,w 
M.  de  Turenne  never  having  probably  heard  of  his  exist- 
ence. With  MONSIEUR  in  full  he  honored  nobody.  It  was 
MONS.  de  Beauvilliers,  MONS.  de  Chevreuse,  and  so  on; 
except  with  those  whose  names  he  clipped  off  short,  as  he 
frequently  would  even  with  Princes  of  the  blood.  I  have 
heard  him  say  many  times,  (<the  Princess  de  Conti,"  in 
speaking  of  the  daughter  of  the  King ;  and  (<  the  Prince  de 
Conti,M  in  speaking  of  Monsieur  her  brother-in-law!  As 
for  the  chief  nobles  of  the  Court,  it  was  rare  for  him  to 
give  them  the  MONSIEUR  or  the  MONS.  It  was  Mare'chal 
d'Humieres,  and  so  on  with  the  others.  Fatuity  and  in- 
solence were  united  in  him,  and  by  dint  of  mounting  a 
hundred  staircases  a  day,  and  bowing  and  scraping  every- 
where, he  had  gained  the  ear  of  I  know  not  how  many 
people.  His  wife  was  a  tall  creature,  as  impertinent  as  he, 
who  wore  the  breeches,  and  before  whom  he  dared  not 
breathe.  Her  effrontery  blushed  at  nothing,  and  after 
many  gallantries  she  had  linked  herself  on  to  M.  de  Duras, 
whom  she  governed,  and  of  whom  she  was  publicly  and 
absolutely  the  mistress,  living  at  his  expense.  Children, 
friends,  servants,  all  were  at  her  mercy;  even  Madame  de 
Duras  herself  when  she  came,  which  was  but  seldom,  from 
the  country. 


168  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

Such  were  the  people  whom  the  King  placed  near  M. 
le  Due  de  Bourgogne. 

The  Due  de  Gesvres,  a  malicious  old  man,  a  cruel  hus- 
band and  unnatural  father,  sadly  annoyed  Mar6chal  de  Ville- 
roy  toward  the  end  of  this  year,  having  previously 
treated  me  very  scurvily  for  some  advice  I  gave  him 
respecting  the  ceremonies  to  be  observed  at  the  recep- 
tion by  the  King  of  M.  D.  Lorraine  as  Due  de  Bar.  M. 
de  Gesvres  and  M.  de  Villeroy  had  both  had  fathers  who 
made  large  fortunes  and  who  became  secretaries  of  state. 
One  morning  M.  de  Gesvres  was  waiting  for  the  King, 
with  a  number  of  other  courtiers,  when  M.  de  Villeroy 
arrived,  with  all  that  noise  and  those  airs  he  had  long 
assumed,  and  which  his  favor  and  his  appointments  ren- 
dered more  superb.  I  know  not  whether  this  annoyed 
De  Gesvres,  more  than  usual,  but  as  soon  as  the  other 
had  placed  himself,  he  said,  w  Monsieur  le  Mare"chal,  it 
must  be  admitted  that  you  and  I  are  very  lucky.*  The 
Mare"chal,  surprised  at  a  remark  which  seemed  to  be  sug- 
gested by  nothing,  assented  with  a  modest  air,  and, 
shaking  his  head  and  his  wig,  began  to  talk  to  some  one 
else.  But  M.  de  Gesvres  had  not  commenced  without  a 
purpose.  He  went  on,  addressed  M.  de  Villeroy  point  blank, 
admiring  their  mutual  good  fortune,  but  when  he  came  to 
speak  of  the  father  of  each,  (<  Let  us  go  no  further,*  said  he, 
<(  for  what  did  our  fathers  spring  from  ?  From  tradesmen ; 
even  tradesmen  they  were  themselves.  Yours  was  the 
son  of  a  dealer  in  fresh  fish  at  the  markets,  and  mine  of 
a  peddler,  or  perhaps,  worse.  Gentlemen,*  said  he,  ad- 
dressing the  company,  <(  have  we  not  reason  to  think  our 
fortune  prodigious  —  the  Mar£chal  and  I  ?  *  The  Mare"- 
chal  would  have  liked  to  strangle  M.  de  Gesvres,  or  to 
see  him  dead — but  what  can  be  done  with  a  man  who 
in  order  to  say  something  cutting  to  you,  says  it  to  him- 
self first?  Everybody  was  silent,  and  all  eyes  were 
lowered.  Many,  however,  were  not  sorry  to  see  M.  de 
Villeroy  so  pleasantly  humiliated.  The  King  came  and 
put  an  end  to  the  scene,  which  was  the  talk  of  the 
Court  for  several  days. 

Omissions  must  be  repaired  as  soon  as  they  are  per- 
ceived. Other  matters  have  carried  me  away.  At  the 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  169 

commencement  of  April,  Ticquet,  councilor  at  the  Parlia- 
ment, was  assassinated  in  his  own  house ;  and  if  he  did  not 
die,  it  was  not  the  fault  of  his  porter,  or  of  the  soldier  who 
had  attempted  to  kill  him,  and  who  left  him  for  dead,  dis- 
turbed by  a  noise  they  heard.  This  councilor,  who  was  a 
very  poor  man,  had  complained  to  the  King,  the  preceding 
year,  of  the  conduct  of  his  wife  with  Montgeorges,  captain 
in  the  guards,  and  much  esteemed.  The  King  prohibited 
Montgeorges  from  seeing  the  wife  of  the  councilor  again. 
Such  having  been  the  case,  when  the  crime  was 
attempted,  suspicion  fell  upon  Montgeorges  and  the  wife 
of  Ticquet,  a  beautiful,  gallant,  and  bold  woman,  who 
took  a  very  high  tone  in  the  matter.  She  was  advised 
to  fly,  and  one  of  my  friends  offered  to  assist  her  to  do 
so,  maintaining  that  in  all  such  cases  it  is  safer  to  be  far 
off  than  close  at  hand.  The  woman  would  listen  to  no 
such  advice,  and  in  a  few  days  she  was  no  longer  able. 
The  porter  and  the  soldier  were  arrested  and  tortured, 
and  Madame  Ticquet,  who  was  foolish  enough  to  allow 
herself  to  be  arrested,  also  underwent  the  same  exam- 
ination, and  avowed  all.  She  was  condemned  to  lose  her 
head,  and  her  accomplice  to  be  broken  on  the  wheel. 
Montgeorges  managed  so  well,  that  he  was  not  legally 
criminated.  When  Ticquet  heard  the  sentence,  he  came 
with  all  his  family  to  the  King,  and  sued  for  mercy. 
But  the  King  would  not  listen  to  him,  and  the  execution 
took  place  on  Wednesday,  the  i;th  of  June,  after  mid- 
day, at  the  Greve.  All  the  windows  of  the  Hotel  de 
Ville,  and  of  the  houses  in  the  Place  de  Greve,  in  the 
streets  that  led  to  it  from  the  Conciergerie  of  the  palace 
where  Madame  Ticquet  was  confined,  were  filled  with 
spectators,  men  and  women,  many  of  title  and  distinction. 
There  were  even  friends  of  both  sexes  of  this  unhappy 
woman,  who  felt  no  shame  or  horror  in  going  there. 
In  the  streets  the  crowd  was  so  great  that  it  could  not 
be  passed  through.  In  general,  pity  was  felt  for  the 
culprit ;  people  hoped  she  would  be  pardoned,  and  it  was 
because  they  hoped  so,  that  they  went  to  see  her  die. 
But  such  is  the  world;  so  unreasoning,  and  so  little  in 
accord  with  itself. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

Reform  at  Court  —  Cardinal  Delfini  —  Pride  of  M.  de  Monaco — Early 
Life  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  —  Madame  de  Navailles  —  Balls  at 
Marly  —  An  Odd  Mask — Great  Dancing  —  Fortunes  of  Langlee — 
His  Coarseness  —  The  Abbe  de  Soubise  —  Intrigues  for  His  Promo- 
tion—  Disgrace  and  Obstinacy  of  Cardinal  de  Bouillon. 

THE   year    1700  commenced  by  a  reform.      The   King 
declared  that  he  would  no  longer  bear  the  expense 
of   the   changes   that  the   courtiers  introduced  into 
their  apartments.     It  had  cost  him  more  than  sixty  thou- 
sand  francs   since   the    Court   left    Fontainebleau.      It  is 
believed  that   Madame   de  Mailly   was   the  cause  of  this 
determination  of  the  King;    for    during    the   last   two   or 
three  years    she  had    made   changes    in   her   apartments 
every  year. 

A  difficulty  occurred  at  this  time  whi'ch  much  mortified 
the  King.  Little  by  little  he  had  taken  all  the  ambassa- 
dors to  visit  Messieurs  du  Maine  and  de  Toulouse,  as 
though  they  were  princes  of  the  blood.  The  nuncio, 
Cavallerini,  visited  them  thus,  but  upon  his  return  to 
Rome  was  so  taken  to  task  for  it,  that  his  successor, 
Delfini,  did  not  dare  to  imitate  him.  The  cardinals  con- 
sidered that  they  had  lowered  themselves,  since  Riche- 
lieu and  Mazarin,  by  treating  even  the  princes  of  the 
blood  on  terms  of  equality,  and  giving  them  their  hand, 
which  had  not  been  customary  in  the  time  of  the  first 
two  ministers  just  named.  To  do  so  to  the  illegitimate 
offspring  of  the  King,  and  on  occasions  of  ceremony, 
appeared  to  them  monstrous.  Negotiations  were  carried 
on  for  a  month,  but  Delfini  would  not  bend,  and  although 
in  every  other  respect  he  had  afforded  great  satisfaction 
during  his  nunciature,  no  farewell  audience  was  given  to 
him,  nor  even  a  secret  audience.  He  was  deprived  of 
the  gift  of  a  silver  vessel  worth  eighteen  hundred  francs, 
that  it  was  customary  to  present  to  the  cardinal  nuncios 
(170) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON       171 

at  their  departure:  and  he  went  away  without  saying 
adieu  to  anybody. 

Some  time  before,  M.  de  Monaco  had  been  sent  as  am- 
bassador to  Rome.  He  claimed  to  be  addressed  by  the 
title  of  (<  Highness, w  and  persisted  in  it  with  so  much 
obstinacy,  that  he  isolated  himself  from  almost  every- 
body, and  brought  the  affairs  of  his  embassy  nearly  to  a 
standstill  by  the  fetters  he  imposed  upon  them  in  the 
most  necessary  transactions.  Tired  at  last  of  the  resist- 
ance he  met  with,  he  determined  to  refuse  the  title  of 
<(  Excellence,  *  although  it  might  fairly  belong  to  them, 
to  all  who  refused  to  address  him  as  <(  Highness. w  This 
finished  his  affair;  for  after  that  determination  no  one 
would  see  him,  and  the  business  of  the  embassy  suffered 
even  more  than  before.  It  is  difficult  to  comprehend  why 
the  King  permitted  such  a  man  to  remain  as  his  repre- 
sentative at  a  foreign  Court. 

Madame  de  Navailles  died  on  the  i4th  of  February. 
Her  mother,  Madame  de  Neuillant,  who  became  a  widow, 
was  avarice  itself.  I  cannot  say  by  what  accident  or 
chance  it  was  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  in  returning 
young  and  poor  from  America,  where  she  had  lost  father 
and  mother,  fell  in  landing  at  Rochelle  into  the  hands  of 
Madame  de  Neuillant,  who  lived  in  Poitou.  Madame  de 
Neuillant  took  home  Madame  de  Maintenon,  but  could 
not  resolve  to  feed  her  without  making  her  do  something 
in  return.  Madame  de  Maintenon,  was  charged  therefore 
with  the  key  of  the  granary,  had  to  measure  out  the  corn 
and  to  see  that  it  was  given  to  the  horses.  It  was 
Madame  de  Neuillant  who  brought  Madame  de  Maintenon 
to  Paris,  and  to  get  rid  of  her  married  her  to  Scarron, 
and  then  retired  into  Poitou. 

Madame  de  Navailles  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  this 
Madame  de  Neuillant,  and  it  was  her  husband  M.  de 
Navailles,  who,  serving  under  M.  le  Prince  in  Flanders, 
received  from  that  General  a  strong  reprimand  for  his 
ignorance.  M.  le  Prince  wanted  to  find  the  exact  posi- 
tion of  a  little  brook,  which  his  maps  did  not  mark.  To 
assist  him  in  the  search,  M.  de  Navailles  brought  a  map  of 
the  world!  On  another  occasion,  visiting  M.  Colbert, 
at  Sceaux,  the  only  thing  M.  de  Navailles  could  find  to 


172  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

praise  was  the  endive  of  the  kitchen  garden:  and  when 
on  the  occasion  of  the  Huguenots  the  difficulty  of  chang- 
ing religion  was  spoken  of,  he  declared  that  if  God  had 
been  good  enough  to  make  him  a  Turk,  he  should  have 
remained  so. 

Madame  de  Navailles  had  been  lady  of  honor  to  the 
Queen-mother,  and  lost  that  place  by  a  strange  adven- 
ture. 

She  was  a  woman  of  spirit  and  of  virtue,  and  the  young 
ladies  of  honor  were  put  under  her  charge.  The  king 
was  at  this  time  young  and  gallant.  So  long  as  he  held 
aloof  from  the  chamber  of  the  young  ladies,  Madame  de 
Navailles  meddled  not,  but  she  kept  her  eye  fixed  upon 
all  that  she  controlled.  She  soon  perceived  that  the  King 
was  beginning  to  amuse  himself,  and  immediately  after 
she  found  that  a  door  had  secretly  been  made  into  the 
chamber  of  the  young  ladies;  that  this  door  communi- 
cated with  a  staircase  by  which  the  King  mounted  into 
the  room  at  night,  and  was  hidden  during  the  day  by 
the  back  of  a  bed  placed  against  it.  Upon  this  Madame 
de  Navailles  held  counsel  with  her  husband.  On  one 
side  was  virtue  and  honor,  on  the  other,  the  King's 
anger,  disgrace,  and  exile.  The  husband  and  wife  did  not 
long  hesitate.  Madame  de  Navailles  at  once  took  her 
measures,  and  so  well,  that  in  a  few  hours  one  evening 
the  door  was  entirely  closed  up.  During  the  same  night 
the  King,  thinking  to  enter  as  usual  by  the  little  stair- 
case, was  much  surprised  to  no  longer  find  a  door.  He 
groped,  he  searched,  he  could  not  comprehend  the  dis- 
appearance of  the  door,  or  by  what  means  it  had  become 
wall  again.  Anger  seized  him;  he  doubted  not  that  the 
door  had  been  closed  by  Madame  de  Navailles  and  her 
husband.  He  soon  found  that  such  was  the  case,  and  on 
the  instant  stripped  them  of  almost  all  their  offices,  and 
exiled  them  from  the  Court.  The  exile  was  not  long; 
the  Queen-mother  on  her  deathbed  implored  him  to  re- 
ceive back  Monsieur  and  Madame  de  Navailles,  and  he 
could  not  refuse.  They  returned,  and  M.  de  Navailles 
nine  years  afterward  was  made  Mare"chal  of  France. 
After  this  Madame  de  Navailles  rarely  appeared  at  the 
Court.  Madame  de  Maintenon  could  not  refuse  her  dis- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  173 

tinctions  and  special  favors,  but  they  were  accorded  rarely 
and  by  moments.  The  King  always  remembered  his 
door ;  Madame  de  Maintenon  always  remembered  the  hay 
and  barley  of  Madame  de  Neuillant,  and  neither  years 
nor  devotion  could  deaden  the  bitterness  of  the  recollec- 
tion. 

From  just  before  Candlemas  day  to  Easter  of  this 
year,  nothing  was  heard  of  but  balls  and  pleasures  of 
the  Court.  The  King  gave  at  Versailles  and  at  Marly 
several  masquerades,  by  which  he  was  much  amused, 
under  pretext  of  amusing  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne. 
At  one  of  these  balls  at  Marly  a  ridiculous  scene  occurred. 
Dancers  were  wanting  and  Madame  de  Luxembourg  on 
account  of  this  obtained  an  invitation,  but  with  great 
difficulty,  for  she  lived  in  such  a  fashion  that  no  woman 
would  see  her.  Monsieur  de  Luxembourg  was  perhaps 
the  only  person  in  France  who  was  ignorant  of  Madame 
de  Luxembourg's  conduct.  He  lived  with  his  wife  on 
apparently  good  terms  and  as  though  he  had  not  the  slight- 
est mistrust  of  her.  On  this  occasion,  because  of  the  want 
of  dancers,  the  King  made  older  people  dance  than  was 
customary,  and  among  others  M.  de  Luxembourg. 
Everybody  was  compelled  to  be  masked.  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg spoke  .on  this  subject  to  M.  le  Prince,  who, 
malicious  as  a  monkey,  determined  to  divert  all  the 
Court  and  himself  at  the  Duke's  expense.  He  invited 
M.  de  Luxembourg  to  supper,  and  after  that  meal  was 
over,  masked  him  according  to  his  fancy. 

Soon  after  my  arrival  at  the  ball,  I  saw  a  figure 
strangely  clad  in  long  flowing  muslin,  and  with  a  head- 
dress on  which  was  fixed  the  horns  of  a  stag,  so  high 
that  they  became  entangled  in  the  chandelier.  Of  course 
everybody  was  much  astonished  at  so  strange  a  sight, 
and  all  thought  that  that  mask  must  be  very  sure  of  his 
wife  to  deck  himself  so.  Suddenly  the  mask  turned 
round  and  showed  us  M.  de  Luxembourg.  The  burst  of 
laughter  at  this  was  scandalous.  Good  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg, who  never  was  very  remarkable  for  wit,  benignly 
took  all  this  laughter  as  having  been  excited  simply  by 
the  singularity  of  his  costume,  and  to  the  questions 
addressed  him,  replied  quite  simply  that  his  dress  had 


174  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

been  arranged  by  M.  le  Prince;  then,  turning  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left,  he  admired  himself  and  strutted 
with  pleasure  at  having  been  masqued  by  M.  le  Prince. 
In  a  moment  more  the  ladies  arrived,  and  the  King 
immediately  after  them.  The  laughter  commenced  anew 
as  loudly  as  ever,  and  M.  de  Luxembourg  presented  him- 
self to  the  company  with  a  confidence  that  was  ravish- 
ing. His  wife  had  heard  nothing  of  this  masquerading, 
and  when  she  saw  it,  lost  countenance,  brazen  as  she 
was.  Everybody  stared  at  her  and  her  husband,  and 
seemed  dying  of  laughter.  M.  le  Prince  looked  at  the 
scene  from  behind  the  King,  and  inwardly  laughed  at 
his  malicious  trick.  This  amusement  lasted  throughout 
all  the  ball,  and  the  King,  self-contained  as  he  usually 
was,  laughed  also;  people  were  never  tired  of  admiring 
an  invention  so  cruelly  ridiculous,  and  spoke  of  it  for 
several  days. 

No  evening  passed  on  which  there  was  not  a  ball. 
The  chancellor's  wife  gave  one  which  was  a  f$te  the 
most  gallant  and  the  most  magnificent  possible.  There 
were  different  rooms  for  the  fancy-dress  ball,  for  the 
masqueraders,  for  a  superb  collation,  for  shops  of  all 
countries,  Chinese,  Japanese,  etc.,  where  many  singular 
and  beautiful  things  were  sold,  but  no  money  taken; 
they  were  presents  for  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  and 
the  ladies.  Everybody  was  especially  diverted  at  this 
entertainment,  which  did  not  finish  until  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning.  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  and  I  passed  the 
last  three  weeks  of  this  time  without  ever  seeing  the 
day.  Certain  dancers  were  only  allowed  to  leave  off 
dancing  at  the  same  time  as  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne. 
One  morning,  at  Marly,  wishing  to  escape  too  early, 
the  Duchess  caused  me  to  be  forbidden  to  pass  the 
doors  of  the  salon;  several  of  us  had  the  same  fate.  I 
was  delighted  when  Ash  Wednesday  arrived;  and  I  re- 
mained a  day  or  two  dead  beat,  and  Madame  de  Saint- 
Simon  could  not  get  over  Shrove  Tuesday. 

La  Bourlie,  brother  of  Guiscard,  after  having  quitted 
the  service,  had  retired  to  his  estate  near  CeVennes, 
where  he  led  a  life  of  much  license.  About  this  time  a 
robbery  was  committed  in  his  house ;  he  suspected  one  of 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  175 

the  servants,  and  on  his  own  authority  put  the  man  to 
the  torture.  This  circumstance  could  not  remain  so 
secret  but  that  complaints  spread  abroad.  The  offense 
was  a  capital  one.  La  Bourlie  fled  from  the  realm,  and 
did  many  strange  things  until  his  death,  which  was  still 
more  strange;  but  of  which  it  is  not  yet  time  to  speak. 

Madame  la  Duchess,  whose  heavy  tradesmen's  debts 
the  King  had  paid  not  long  since,  had  not  dared  to 
speak  of  her  gambling  debts,  also  very  heavy.  They 
increased,  and,  entirely  unable  to  pay  them,  she  found 
herself  in  the  greatest  embarrassment.  She  feared,  above 
all  things,  lest  M.  le  Prince  or  M.  le  Due  should  hear  of 
this.  In  this  extremity  she  addressed  herself  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  laying  bare  the  state  of  her  finances,  with- 
out the  slightest  disguise.  Madame  de  Maintenon  had 
pity  on  her  situation,  and  arranged  that  the  King  should 
pay  her  debts,  abstain  from  scolding  her,  and  keep  her 
secret.  Thus,  in  a  few  weeks,  Madame  la  Duchess  found 
herself  free  of  debts,  without  anybody  whom  she  feared 
having  known  even  of  their  existence. 

Langlee  was  intrusted  with  the  payment  and  arrange- 
ment of  these  debts.  He  was  a  singular  kind  of  man 
at  the  Court,  and  deserves  a  word.  Born  of  obscure 
parents,  who  had  enriched  themselves,  he  had  early  been 
introduced  into  the  great  world,  and  had  devoted  himself 
to  play,  gaining  an  immense  fortune;  but  without  being 
accused  of  the  least  unfairness.  With  but  little  or  no 
wit,  but  much  knowledge  of  the  world,  he  had  succeeded 
in  securing  many  friends,  and  in  making  his  way  at  the 
Court.  He  joined  in  all  the  King's  parties,  at  the  time 
of  his  mistresses.  Similarity  of  tastes  attached  Langlee 
to  Monsieur,  but  he  never  lost  sight  of  the  King.  At 
all  the  f$tes  Langle*e  was  present,  he  took  part  in  the 
journeys,  he  was  invited  to  Marly,  was  intimate  with  all 
the  King's  mistresses ;  then  with  all  the  daughters  of  the 
King,  with  whom  indeed  he  was  so  familiar  that  he  often 
spoke  to  them  with  the  utmost  freedom.  He  had  be- 
come such  a  master  of  fashions  and  of  f$tes  that  none  of 
the  latter  were  given,  even  by  Princes  of  the  blood,  ex- 
cept under  his  directions;  and  no  houses  were  bought, 
built,  furnished,  or  ornamented,  without  his  tastes  being 


176  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

consulted.  There  were  no  marriages  of  which  the  dresses 
and  the  presents  were  not  chosen,  or  at  least  approved, 
by  him.  He  was  on  intimate  terms  with  the  most  dis- 
tinguished people  of  the  court;  and  often  took  improper 
advantage  of  his  position.  To  the  daughters  of  the  King 
and  to  a  number  of  female  friends  he  said  horribly  filthy 
things,  and  that  too  in  their  own  houses,  at  St.  Cloud  or 
at  Marly.  He  was  often  made  a  confident  in  matters  of 
gallantry,  and  continued  to  be  made  so  all  his  life.  For 
he  was  a  sure  man,  had  nothing  disagreeable  about  him, 
was  obliging,  always  ready  to  serve  others  with  his  purse 
or  his  influence,  and  was  on  bad  terms  with  no  one. 

While  everybody,  during  all  this  winter,  was  at  balls 
and  amusements,  the  beautiful  Madame  de  Soubise — for 
she  was  so  still — employed  herself  with  more  serious 
matters.  She  had  just  bought,  very  cheap,  the  immense 
Hotel  of  Guise,  that  the  King  assisted  her  to  pay  for. 
Assisted  also  by  the  King,  she  took  steps  to  make  her 
bastard  son  canon  of  Strasbourg;  intrigued  so  well  that 
his  birth  was  made  to  pass  muster,  although  among 
Germans  there  is  a  great  horror  of  illegitimacy,  and  he 
was  received  into  the  chapter.  This  point  gained,  she 
laid  her  plans  for  carrying  out  another,  and  a  higher 
one,  nothing  less  than  that  of  making  her  son  Arch- 
bishop of  Strasbourg. 

But  there  was  an  obstacle  in  the  way.  This  obstacle 
was  the  Abbe"  d'Auvergne  (nephew  of  Cardinal  de  Bouil- 
lon), who  had  the  highest  position  in  the  chapter,  that 
of  Grand  PreVot,  had  been  there  much  longer  than  the 
Abbe"  de  Soubise,  was  older,  and  of  more  consequence. 
His  reputation,  however,  was  against  him;  his  habits 
were  publicly  known  to  be  those  of  the  Greeks,  while  his 
intellect  resembled  theirs  in  no  way.  By  his  stupidity 
he  published  his  bad  conduct,  his  perfect  ignorance,  his 
dissipation,  his  ambition;  and  to  sustain  himself  he  had 
only  a  low,  stinking,  continual  vanity, —  which  drew  upon 
him  as  much  disdain  as  did  his  habits,  alienated  him 
from  all  the  world,  and  constantly  subjected  him  to 
ridicule. 

The  Abbe"  de  Soubise  had  on  the  contrary,  everything 
smiling  in  his  favor,  even  his  exterior,  which  showed 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  177 

that  he  was  born  of  the  tenderest  amours.  Upon  the 
forms  of  the  Sorbonne  he  had  much  distinguished  him- 
self. He  had  been  made  Prior  of  Sorbonne,  and  had 
shone  conspicuously  in  that  position,  gaining-  eulogies  of 
the  most  flattering  kind  from  everybody,  and  highly 
pleasing  the  King.  After  this,  he  entered  the  seminary 
of  Saint  Magloire,  then  much  in  vogue,  and  gained  the 
good  graces  of  the  Archbishop  of  Paris,  by  whom  that 
seminary  was  favored.  On  every  side  the  Abbe*  de  Sou- 
bise  was  regarded,  either  as  a  marvel  of  learning,  or  a 
miracle  of  piety  and  purity  of  manners.  He  had  made 
himself  loved  everywhere,  and  his  gentleness,  his  polite- 
ness, his  intelligence,  his  graces,  and  his  talent  for 
securing  friends,  confirmed  more  and  more  the  reputa- 
tion he  had  established. 

The  Abbe"  d'Auvergne  had  a  relative,  the  Cardinal  de 
Furstemberg,  who  also  had  two  nephews,  canons  of  Stras- 
bourg, and  in  a  position  to  become  claimants  to  the 
bishopric.  Madame  de  Soubise  rightly  thought  that  her 
first  step  must  be  to  gain  over  the  Cardinal  to  her  side. 
There  was  a  channel  through  which  this  could  be  done 
which  at  once  suggested  itself  to  her  mind.  Cardinal 
Furstemberg,  it  was  said,  had  been  much  enamored  of 
the  Comtesse  de  La  Marck,  and  had  married  her  to  one 
of  his  nephews,  in  order  that  he  might  thus  see  her  more 
easily.  It  was  also  said  that  he  had  been  well  treated, 
and  it  is  certain  that  nothing  was  so  striking  as  the 
resemblance,  feature  for  feature,  of  the  Comte  de  La 
Marck  to  Cardinal  de  Furstemberg.  If  the  Comte  was 
not  the  son  of  the  Cardinal  he  was  nothing  to  him.  The 
attachment  of  Cardinal  Furstemberg  for  the  Comtesse  de 
La  Marck  did  not  abate  when  she  became  by  her  mar- 
riage Comtesse  de  Furstemberg;  indeed  he  could  not 
exist  without  her;  she  lived  and  reigned  in  his  house. 
Her  son,  the  Comte  de  La  Marck  lived  there  also,  and 
her  dominion  over  the  Cardinal  was  so  public,  that  who- 
ever had  affairs  with  him  spoke  to  the  Comtesse,  if  he 
wished  to  succeed.  She  had  been  very  beautiful,  and  at 
fifty-two  years  of  age,  still  showed  it,  although  tall,  stout, 
and  coarse  featured  as  a  Swiss  guard  in  woman's  clothes. 
She  was,  moreover,  bold,  audacious,  talking  loudly  and 


i;8  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

always  with  authority;  was  polished,  however,  and  of  good 
manners  when  she  pleased.  Being  the  most  imperious 
woman  in  the  world,  the  Cardinal  was  fairly  tied  to  her 
apron  strings,  and  scarcely  dared  to  breathe  in  her  pres- 
ence. In  dress  and  finery  she  spent  like  a  prodigal, 
played  every  night,  and  lost  large  sums,  oftentimes  stak- 
ing her  jewels  and  her  various  ornaments.  She  was  a 
woman  who  loved  herself  alone,  who  wished  for  every- 
thing, and  who  refused  herself  nothing, —  not  even,  it 
was  said,  certain  gallantries  which  the  poor  Cardinal 
was  obliged  to  pay  for,  as  for  everything  else.  Her 
extravagance  was  such,  that  she  was  obliged  to  pass 
six  or  seven  months  of  the  year  in  the  country,  in  order 
to  have  enough  to  spend  in  Paris  during  the  remainder 
of  the  year. 

It  was  to  the  Comtesse  de  Furstemberg,  therefore,  that 
Madame  de  Soubise  addressed  herself  in  order  to  gain 
over  the  support  of  Cardinal  de  Furstemberg,  in  behalf 
of  her  son.  Rumor  said,  and  it  was  never  contradicted, 
that  Madame  de  Soubise  paid  much  money  to  the  Car- 
dinal through  the  Comtesse,  in  order  to  carry  this  point.  It 
is  certain  that  in  addition  to  the  prodigious  pensions  the 
Cardinal  drew  from  the  King,  he  touched  at  this  time  a 
gratification  of  forty  thousand  crowns,  that  it  was  pre- 
tended had  been  long  promised  him. 

Madame  de  Soubise  having  thus  assured  herself  of  the 
Comtesse  and  the  Cardinal  (and  they  having  been  pri- 
vately thanked  by  the  King),  she  caused  an  order  to  be 
sent  to  Cardinal  de  Bouillon,  who  was  then  at  Rome, 
requesting  him  to  ask  the  Pope  in  the  name  of  the  King, 
for  a  bull  summoning  the  Chapter  of  Strasburg  to  meet 
and  elect  a  coadjutor  and  a  declaration  of  the  eligibility 
of  the  Abbe"  de  Soubise. 

But  here  a  new  obstacle  arose  in  the  path  of  Madame 
de  Soubise.  Cardinal  de  Bouillon,  a  man  of  excessive 
pride  and  pretension,  who  upon  reaching  Rome  claimed 
to  be  addressed  as  (<  Most  Eminent  Highness, w  and  obtain- 
ing this  title  from  nobody  except  his  servants,  set  himself 
at  loggerheads  with  all  the  city  —  Cardinal  de  Bouillon,  I 
say,  was  himself  canon  of  Strasburg,  and  uncle  of  the 
Abbe"  d'Auvergne.  So  anxious  was  the  Cardinal  to  secure 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  179 

the  advancement  of  the  Abbe"  d'Auvergne,  that  he  had 
already  made  a  daring  and  fraudulent  attempt  to  procure 
for  him  a  cardinalship.  But  the  false  representations 
which  he  made  in  order  to  carry  his  point,  having  been 
seen  through,  his  attempt  came  to  nothing,  and  he  him- 
self lost  all  favor  with  the  King  for  his  deceit.  He, 
however,  hoped  to  make  the  Abbe"  d'Auvergne  bishop  of 
Strasburg,  and  was  overpowered,  therefore,  when  he  saw 
this  magnificent  prey  about  to  escape  him.  The  news 
came  upon  him  like  a  thunderbolt.  It  was  bad  enough 
to  see  his  hopes  trampled  under  foot;  it  was  insupport- 
able to  be  obliged  to  aid  in  crushing  them.  Vexation 
so  transported  and  blinded  him,  that  he  forgot  the  rela- 
tive positions  of  himself  and  of  Madame  de  Soubise,  and 
imagined  that  he  should  be  able  to  make  the  King  break 
a  resolution  he  had  taken,  and  an  engagement  he  had 
entered  into.  He  sent  therefore,  as  though  he  had  been 
a  great  man,  a  letter  to  the  King,  telling  him  that  he 
had  not  thought  sufficiently  upon  this  matter,  and  raising 
scruples  against  it.  At  the  same  time  he  dispatched  a 
letter  to  the  canons  of  Strasburg,  full  of  gall  and  com- 
pliments, trying  to  persuade  them  that  the  Abbe"  de  Sou- 
bise was  too  young  for  the  honor  intended  him,  and 
plainly  intimating  that  the  Cardinal  de  Furstemberg  had 
been  gained  over  by  a  heavy  bribe  paid  to  the  Comtesse 
de  Furstemberg.  These  letters  made  a  terrible  uproar. 

I  was  at  the  palace  on  Tuesday,  March  3oth,  and  after 
supper  I  saw  Madame  de  Soubise  arrive,  leading  the 
Comtesse  de  Furstemberg,  both  of  whom  posted  them- 
selves at  the  door  of  the  King's  cabinet.  It  was  not 
that  Madame  de  Soubise  had  not  the  privilege  of  enter- 
ing if  she  pleased,  but  she  preferred  making  her  complaint 
as  public  as  the  charges  made  against  her  by  Cardinal 
de  Bouillon  had  become.  I  approached  in  order  to  wit- 
ness the  scene.  Madame  de  Soubise  appeared  scarcely 
able  to  contain  herself,  and  the  Comtesse  seemed  furious. 
As  the  King  passed,  they  stopped  him.  Madame  de 
Soubise  said  two  words  in  a  low  tone.  The  Comtesse  in 
a  louder  strain  demanded  justice  against  the  Cardinal  de 
Bouillon,  who,  she  said,  not  content  in  his  pride  and 
ambition  with  disregarding  the  orders  of  the  King,  had 


i8o  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

calumniated  her  and  Cardinal  de  Furstemberg  in  the 
most  atrocious  manner,  and  had  not  even  spared  Madame 
de  Soubise  herself.  The  King  replied  to  her  with  much 
politeness,  assured  her  she  should  be  contented,  and 
passed  on. 

Madame  de  Soubise  was  so  much  the  more  piqued  because 
Cardinal  de  Bouillon  had  acquainted  the  King  with  the 
simony  she  had  committed,  and  assuredly  if  he  had  not 
been  ignorant  of  this  he  would  never  have  supported  her 
in  the  affair.  She  hastened  therefore  to  secure  the  suc- 
cess of  her  son,  and  was  so  well  served  by  the  whispered 
authority  of  the  King,  and  the  money  she  had  spent, 
that  the  Abbe"  de  Soubise  was  elected  by  unanimity 
Coadjutor  of  Strasburg. 

As  for  the  Cardinal  de  Bouillon,  foiled  in  all  his  attempts 
to  prevent  the  election,  he  wrote  a  second  letter  to  the 
King,  more  foolish  than  the  first  This  filled  the  cup  to 
overflowing.  For  reply,  he  received  orders,  by  a  courier, 
to  quit  Rome  immediately  and  to  retire  to  Cluni  or  to 
Tournus,  at  his  choice,  until  further  orders.  This  order 
appeared  so  cruel  to  him  that  he  could  not  make  up  his 
mind  to  obey.  He  was  under-doyen  of  the  sacred  college. 
Cibo,  the  doyen,  was  no  longer  able  to  leave  his  bed.  To 
become  doyen,  it  was  necessary  to  be  in  Rome  when  the 
appointment  became  vacant.  Cardinal  de  Bouillon  wrote 
therefore  to  the  King,  begging  to  be  allowed  to  stay  a 
short  time,  in  order  to  pray  the  Pope  to  set  aside  this 
rule,  and  give  him  permission  to  succeed  to  the  doyenship, 
even  although  absent  from  Rome  when  it  became  vacant. 
He  knew  he  should  not  obtain  this  permission,  but  he 
asked  for  it  in  order  to  gain  time,  hoping  that  in  the 
meanwhile  Cardinal  Cibo  might  die,  or  even  the  Pope  him- 
self, whose  health  had  been  threatened  with  ruin  for  some 
time.  This  request  of  the  Cardinal  de  Bouillon  was  re- 
fused. There  seemed  nothing  for  him  but  to  comply  with 
the  orders  he  had  received.  But  he  had  evaded  them  so 
long  that  he  thought  he  might  continue  to  do  so.  He 
wrote  to  Pere  la  Chaise,  begging  him  to  ask  the  King  for 
permission  to  remain  at  Rome  until  the  death  of  Cardinal 
Cibo,  adding  that  he  would  wait  for  a  reply  at  Caprarole, 
a  magnificent  house  of  the  Duke  of  Parma,  at  eight 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  181 

leagues  from  Rome.  He  addressed  himself  to  Pere  la 
Chaise,  because  M.  de  Torcy,  to  whom  he  had  previously 
written,  had  been  forbidden  to  open  his  letters,  and  had 
sent  him  word  to  that  effect.  Having,  too,  been  always  on 
the  best  of  terms  with  the  Jesuits,  he  hoped  for  good 
assistance  from  Pere  la  Chaise.  But  he  found  this  door 
closed  like  that  of  M.  de  Torcy.  Pere  la  Chaise  wrote  to 
Cardinal  de  Bouillon  that  he  too  was  prohibited  from  open- 
ing his  letters.  At  the  same  time  a  new  order  was  sent 
to  the  Cardinal  to  set  out  immediately.  Just  after  he 
had  read  it  Cardinal  Cibo  died,  and  the  Cardinal  de  Bouil- 
lon hastened  at  once  to  Rome  to  secure  the  doyenship,  writ- 
ing to  the  King  to  say  that  he  had  done  so,  that  he  would 
depart  in  twenty-four  hours,  and  expressing  a  hope  that 
this  delay  would  not  be  refused  him.  This  was  laughing 
at  the  King  and  his  orders,  and  becoming  doyen  in  spite 
of  him.  The  King,  therefore,  displayed  his  anger  im- 
mediately he  learned  this  last  act  of  disobedience.  He 
sent  word  immediately  to  M.  de  Monaco  to  command  the 
Cardinal  de  Bouillon  to  surrender  his  charge  of  grand 
chaplain,  to  give  up  his  cordon  bleu,  and  to  take  down 
the  arms  of  France  from  the  door  of  his  palace;  M.  de 
Monaco  was  also  ordered  to  prohibit  all  French  people 
in  Rome  from  seeing  Cardinal  de  Bouillon,  or  from  hav- 
ing any  communication  with  him.  M.  de  Monaco,  who 
hated  the  Cardinal,  hastened  willingly  to  obey  these  in- 
structions. The  Cardinal  appeared  overwhelmed,  but  he 
did  not  even  then  give  in.  He  pretended  that  his  charge 
of  grand  chaplain  was  a  crown  office,  of  which  he  could 
not  be  dispossessed,  without  resigning.  The  King,  out  of 
all  patience  with  a  disobedience  so  stubborn  and  so 
marked,  ordered,  by  a  decree  in  Council,  on  the  i2th  of 
September,  the  seizure  of  all  the  Cardinal's  estates,  laical 
and  ecclesiastical,  the  latter  to  be  confiscated  to  the  State, 
the  former  to  be  divided  into  three  portions,  and  applied 
to  various  uses.  The  same  day  the  charge  of  grand  chap- 
lain was  given  to  Cardinal  Coislin,  and  that  of  chief 
chaplain  to  the  Bishop  of  Metz.  The  despair  of  the  Car- 
dinal de  Bouillon,  on  hearing  of  this  decree,  was  extreme. 
Pride  had  hitherto  hindered  him  from  believing  that  mat- 
ters would  be  pushed  so  far  against  him.  He  sent  in  his 


1 82      MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

resignation  only  when  it  was  no  longer  needed  of  him. 
His  order  he  would  not  give  up.  M.  de  Monaco  warned 
him  that,  in  case  of  refusal,  he  had  orders  to  snatch  it 
from  his  neck.  Upon  this  the  Cardinal  saw  the  folly  of 
holding  out  against  the  prders  of  the  King.  He  quitted 
then  the  marks  of  the  order,  but  he  was  pitiful  enough 
to  wear  a  narrow  blue  ribbon,  with  a  cross  of  gold  at- 
tached, under  his  cassock,  and  tried  from  time  to  time  to 
show  a  little  of  the  blue.  A  short  time  afterward,  to 
make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain,  he  tried  to  persuade 
himself  and  others,  that  no  cardinal  was  at  liberty  to 
wear  the  orders  of  any  prince.  But  it  was  rather  late  in 
the  day  to  think  of  this,  after  having  worn  the  order  of 
the  King  for  thirty  years,  as  grand  chaplain;  and  every- 
body thought  so,  and  laughed  at  the  idea. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A  Marriage  Bargain  —  Mademoiselle  de  Mailly — James  II.  Begging 
Champagne  — A  Duel  —  Death  of  Le  Notre  —  His  Character  —  History 
of  Vassor — Comtesse  de  Verrue  and  Her  Romance  with  M.  de 
Savoie — A  Race  of  Dwarfs — An  Indecorous  Incident — Death  of  M. 
de  La  Trappe. 

CHATEAUNEUF,  Secretary  of  State,  died  about  this  time. 
He  had  asked  that  his  son,  La  Vrilliere,  might  be 
allowed  to  succeed  him,  and  was  much  vexed  that 
the  King  refused  this  favor.  The  news  of  Chateauneuf 's 
death  was  brought  to  La  Vrilliere  by  a  courier,  at  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  did  not  lose  his  wits  at  the 
news,  but  at  once  sent  and  woke  up  the  Princess  d'Har- 
court  and  begged  her  to  come  and  see  him  instantly. 
Opening  his  purse,  he  prayed  her  to  go  and  see  Madame 
de  Maintenon  as  soon  as  she  got  up,  and  propose  his 
marriage  with  Mademoiselle  de  Mailly,  whom  he  would 
take  without  dowry,  if  the  King  gave  him  his  father's 
appointments.  The  Princess  d'Harcourt,  whose  habit  it 
was  to  accept  any  sum,  from  a  crown  upward,  willingly 
undertook  this  strange  business.  She  went  upon  her 
errand  immediately,  and  then  repaired  to  Madame  de 
Mailly,  who  without  property,  and  burdened  with  a  troop 
of  children  —  sons  and  daughters — was  in  no  way  adverse 
to  the  marriage. 

The  King,  upon  getting  up,  was  duly  made  acquainted 
with  La  Vrilliere's  proposal,  and  at  once  agreed  to  it. 
There  was  only  one  person  opposed  to  the  marriage,  and 
that  was  Mademoiselle  de  Mailly.  She  was  not  quite 
twelve  years  of  age.  She  burst  out  crying,  and  de- 
clared she  was  very  unhappy,  that  she  would  not  mind 
marrying  a  poor  man,  if  necessary,  provided  he  was  a 
gentleman,  but  that  to  marry  a  paltry  bourgeois,  in  order 
to  make  his  fortune,  was  odious  to  her.  She  was  furious 
against  her  mother  and  against  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
She  could  not  be  kept  quiet  or  appeased,  or  hindered 
from  making  grimaces  at  La  Vrilliere  and  all  his  family, 

(183) 


1 84  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

who  came  to  see  her  and  her  mother.  They  felt  it;  but 
the  bargain  was  made,  and  was  too  good  to  be  broken. 
They  thought  Mademoiselle  de  Mailly's  annoyance  would 
pass  with  her  youth  —  but  they  were  mistaken.  Mademoi- 
selle de  Mailly  always  was  sore  at  having  been  made 
Madame  de  la  Vrilliere,  and  people  often  observed  it. 

At  the  marriage  of  Monseigneur  the  Due  de  Bourgogne, 
the  King  had  offered  to  augment  considerably  his  monthly 
income.  The  young  Prince,  who  found  it  sufficient,  re- 
plied with  thanks,  and  said  that  if  money  failed  him  at 
any  time  he  would  take  the  liberty  of  asking  the  King 
for  more.  Finding  himself  short  just  now,  he  was  as 
good  as  his  word.  The  King  praised  him  highly,  and  told 
him  to  ask  whenever  he  wanted  money,  not  through  a 
third  person,  but  direct,  as  he  had  done  in  this  instance. 
The  King,  moreover,  told  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  to  play 
without  fear,  for  it  was  of  no  consequence  how  much 
such  persons  as  he  might  lose.  The  King  was  pleased 
with  confidence,  but  liked  not  the  less  to  see  himself 
feared ;  and  when  timid  people  who  spoke  to  him  discov- 
ered themselves,  and  grew  embarrassed  in  their  dis- 
course, nothing  better  made  their  court,  or  advanced 
their  interests. 

The  Archbishop  of  Rheims  presided  this  year  over  the 
assembly  of  the  clergy,  which  was  held  every  five  years. 
It  took  place  on  this  occasion  at  Saint  Germains,  although 
the  King  of  England  occupied  the  chateau.  M.  de  Rheims 
kept  open  table  there,  and  had  some  champagne  that  was 
much  vaunted.  The  King  of  England,  who  drank  scarcely 
any  other  wine,  heard  of  this  and  asked  for  some.  The 
Archbishop  sent  him  six  bottles.  Some  time  after,  the 
King  of  England,  who  had  much  relished  the  wine,  sent 
and  asked  for  more.  The  Archbishop,  more  sparing  of 
his  wine  than  of  his  money,  bluntly  sent  word  that  his 
wine  was  not  mad,  and  did  not  run  through  the  streets; 
and  sent  none.  However  accustomed  people  might  be  to 
the  rudeness  of  the  Archbishop,  this  appeared  so  strange 
that  it  was  much  spoken  of,  but  that  was  all. 

M.  de  Venddme  took  another  public  leave  of  the  King, 
the  Princes,  and  the  Princesses,  in  order  to  place  himself 
again  under  the  doctor's  hands.  He  perceived  at  last  that 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  185 

he  was  not  cured,  and  that  it  would  be  long  before  he 
was;  so  went  to  Anet  to  try  and  recover  his  health, 
but  without  success  better  than  before.  He  brought  back 
a  face  upon  which  his  state  was  still  more  plainly  printed 
than  at  first.  Madame  d'Uzes,  only  daughter  of  the 
Prince  de  Monaco,  died  of  this  disease.  She  was  a  woman 
of  merit  —  very  virtuous  and  unhappy  —  who  merited  a 
better  fate.  M.  d'Uzes  was  an  obscure  man,  who  fre- 
quented the  lowest  society,  and  suffered  less  from  its 
effects  than  his  wife,  who  was  much  pitied  and  regretted. 
Her  children  perished  of  the  same  disease,  and  she  left 
none  behind  her. 

Soon  after  this  the  King  ordered  the  Comtes  d'Uzes 
and  d'Albert  to  go  to  the  Conciergerie  for  having  fought 
a  duel  against  the  Comtes  de  Rontzau,  a  Dane,  and 
Schwartzenberg,  an  Austrian.  Uzes  gave  himself  up, 
but  the  Comte  d'Albert  did  not  do  so  for  a  long  time, 
and  was  broken  for  his  disobedience.  He  had  been  on 
more  than  good  terms  with  Madame  de  Luxembourg  — 
the  Comte  de  Rontzau  also:  hence  the  quarrel;  the  cause 
of  which  was  known  by  everybody,  and  made  a  great 
stir.  Everybody  knew  it,  at  least,  except  M.  de  Luxem- 
bourg. He  was  the  only  one  in  ignorance  of  it ;  and  yet 
in  every  direction  he  asked  the  reason;  but,  as  may  be 
imagined,  could  find  nobody  to  tell  him;  so  that  he  went 
over  and  over  again  to  M.  le  Prince  de  Conti,  his  most 
intimate  friend,  praying  him  for  information  upon  the 
subject.  M.  de  Conti  related  to  me  that  on  one  occa- 
sion, coming  from  Meudon,  he  was  so  solicited  by  M.  de 
Luxembourg  on  this  account,  that  he  was  completely 
embarrassed,  and  never  suffered  to  such  an  extent  in  all 
his  life.  He  contrived  to  put  off  M.  de  Luxembourg, 
and  said  nothing,  but  was  glad  indeed  to  get  away  from 
him  at  the  end  of  the  journey. 

Le  Notre  died  about  this  time,  after  having  been 
eighty-eight  years  in  perfect  health,  and  with  all  his 
faculties  and  good  taste  to  the  very  last.  He  was  illus- 
trious, as  having  been  the  first  designer  of  those  beauti- 
ful gardens  which  adorn  France,  and  which,  indeed,  have 
so  much  surpassed  the  gardens  of  Italy,  that  the  most 
famous  masters  of  that  country  come  here  to  admire  and 


j86  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

learn.  Le  Notre  had  a  probity,  and  exactitude,  and  an 
uprightness  which  made  him  esteemed  and  loved  by 
everybody.  He  never  forgot  his  position,  and  was  always 
perfectly  disinterested.  He  worked  for  private  people  as 
for  the  King,  and  with  the  same  application  —  seeking 
only  to  aid  nature,  and  to  attain  the  beautiful  by  the 
shortest  road.  He  was  of  a  charming  simplicity  and 
truthfulness.  The  Pope,  upon  one  occasion,  begged  the 
King  to  lend  him  Le  Notre  for  some  months.  On  en- 
tering the  Pope's  chamber,  instead  of  going  down  upon 
his  knees,  Le  Notre  ran  to  the  Holy  Father,  clasped  him 
round  the  neck,  kissed  him  on  the  two  cheeks,  and  said 
— "Good  morning,  Reverend  Father;  how  well  you  look, 
and  how  glad  I  am  to  see  you  in  such  good  health. " 

The  Pope,  who  was  Clement  X.,  Altieri,  burst  out 
laughing  with  all  his  might.  He  was  delighted  with  this 
odd  salutation,  and  showed  his  friendship  toward  the 
gardener  in  a  thousand  ways.  Upon  Le  Notre 's  return, 
the  King  led  him  into  the  gardens  of  Versailles,  and 
showed  him  what  had  been  done  in  his  absence.  About 
the  Colonnade  he  said  nothing.  The  King  pressed  him 
to  give  his  opinion  thereupon. 

<(Why,  sire,"  said  Le  Notre,  "what  can  I  say?  Of  a 
mason  you  have  made  a  gardener,  and  he  has  given  you 
a  sample  of  his  trade.* 

The  King  kept  silence  and  everybody  laughed;  and  it 
was  true  that  this  morsel  of  architectiire,  which  was  any- 
thing but  a  fountain,  and  yet  which  was  intended  to  be 
one,  was  much  out  of  place  in  a  garden.  A  month  be- 
fore Le  Notre's  death,  the  King  who  liked  to  see  him 
and  to  make  him  talk,  led  him  into  the  gardens,  and  on 
account  of  his  great  age,  placed  him  in  a  wheeled  chair, 
by  the  side  of  his  own.  Upon  this  Le  Notre  said,  (<Ah, 
my  poor  father,  if  you  were  living  and  could  see  a  simple 
gardener  like  me,  your  son,  wheeled  along  in  a  chair  by 
the  side  of  the  greatest  King  in  the  world,  nothing  would 
be  wanting  to  my  joy!  w 

Le  Notre  was  Overseer  of  the  Public  Buildings,  and 
lodged  at  the  Tuileries,  the  garden  of  which  (his  design), 
together  with  the  Palace,  being  under  his  charge.  All 
that  he  did  is  still  much  superior  to  everything  that  has 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  187 

been  done  since,  whatever  care  may  have  been  taken  to 
imitate  and  follow  him  as  closely  as  possible.  He  used 
to  say  of  flower  beds  that  they  were  only  good  for  nurses, 
who,  not  being  able  to  quit  the  children,  walked  on 
them  with  their  eyes,  and  admired  them  from  the  second 
floor.  He  excelled,  nevertheless,  in  flower  beds,  as  in 
everything  concerning  gardens ;  but  he  made  little  account 
of  them,  and  he  was  right,  for  they  are  the  spots  upon 
which  people  never  walk. 

The  King  of  England  (William  III.)  lost  the  Duke  of 
Gloucester,  heir  presumptive  to  the  crown.  He  was 
eleven  years  of  age,  and  was  the  only  son  of  the  Prin- 
cess of  Denmark,  sister  of  the  defunct  Queen  Mary,  wife 
of  William.  His  preceptor  was  Doctor  Burnet,  Bishop  of 
Salisbury,  who  was  in  the  secret  of  the  invasion,  and 
who  passed  into  England  with  the  Prince  of  Orange  at 
the  Revolution,  of  which  Revolution  he  has  left  a  very 
fraudulent  history,  and  many  other  works  of  as  little 
truth  and  good  faith.  The  under-preceptor  was  the 
famous  Vassor,  author  of  the  (<  History  of  Louis  XIII.," 
which  would  be  read  with  more  pleasure  if  there  were 
less  spite  against  the  Catholic  religion,  and  less  passion 
against  the  King.  With  those  exceptions  it  is  excellent 
and  true.  Vassor  must  have  been  singularly  well  in- 
formed of  the  anecdotes  that  he  relates,  and  which  escape 
almost  all  historians.  I  have  found  there,  for  instance, 
the  Day  of  the  Dupes  related  precisely  as  my  father  has 
related  it  to  me,  and  several  other  curious  things  not 
less  exact.  This  author  has  made  such  a  stir  that  it  is 
worth  while  to  say  something  about  him.  He  was  a 
priest  of  the  Oratory,  and  in  much  estimation  as  a  man 
whose  manners  were  without  reproach.  After  a  time, 
however,  he  was  found  to  have  disclosed  a  secret  that 
had  been  intrusted  to  him,  and  to  have  acted  the  spy  on 
behalf  of  the  Jesuits.  The  proofs  of  his  treason  were 
found  upon  his  table,  and  were  so  conclusive  that  there 
was  nothing  for  him  but  to  leave  the  Oratory.  He  did 
so,  and  being  deserted  by  his  Jesuit  employers,  threw 
himself  into  La  Trappe.  But  he  did  not  enter  the  place 
in  a  proper  spirit,  and  in  a  few  days  withdrew.  After 
this  he  went  to  the  Abbey  of  Perseigne,  hired  a  lodging 


1 88  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

there,  and  remained  several  months.  But  he  was  con- 
tinually at  loggerheads  with  the  monks.  Their  garden 
was  separated  from  his  only  by  a  thick  hedge ;  their  fowls 
could  jump  over  it.  He  laid  the  blame  upon  the  monks, 
and  one  day  caught  as  many  of  their  fowls  as  he  could ; 
cut  off  their  beaks  and  their  spurs  with  a  cleaver,  and 
threw  them  back  again  over  the  hedge.  This  was  cruelty 
so  marked  that  I  could  not  refrain  from  relating  it. 

Vassor  did  not  long  remain  in  this  retreat,  but  re- 
turned to  Paris,  and  still  being  unable  to  gain  a  living, 
passed  into  Holland,  from  rage  and  hunger  became  a 
Protestant,  and  set  himself  to  work  to  live  by  his  pen. 
His  knowledge,  talent,  and  intelligence  procured  him 
many  friends,  and  his  reputation  reached  England,  into 
which  country  he  passed,  hoping  to  gain  there  more  for- 
tune than  in  Holland.  Burnet  received  him  with  open 
arms,  and  obtained  for  him  the  post  of  under-preceptor 
to  the  Duke  of  Gloucester.  It  would  have  been  difficult 
to  have  found  two  instructors  so  opposed  to  the  Catho- 
lics and  to  France,  or  so  well  suited  to  the  King  as 
teachers  of  his  successor. 

Among  so  many  things  which  paved  the  way  for  the 
greatest  events,  a  very  strange  one  happened,  which 
from  its  singularity  merits  a  short  recital.  For  many 
years  the  Comtesse  de  Verrue  lived  at  Turin,  mistress, 
publicly,  of  M.  de  Savoie.  The  Comtesse  de  Verrue  was 
daughter  of  the  Due  de  Luynes,  and  had  been  married 
in  Piedmont,  when  she  was  only  fourteen  years  of  age, 
to  the  Comte  de  Verrue,  young,  handsome,  rich,  and 
honest;  whose  mother  was  lady  of  honor  to  Madame  de 
Savoie. 

M.  de  Savoie  often  met  the  Comtesse  de  Verrue,  and 
soon  found  her  much  to  his  taste.  She  saw  this,  and 
said  so  to  her  husband  and  her  mother-in-law.  They 
praised  her,  but  took  no  further  notice  of  the  matter. 
M.  de  Savoie  redoubled  his  attentions,  and  contrary  to 
his  usual  custom,  gave  f/tes, .  which  the  Comtesse  de 
Verrue  felt  were  for  her.  She  did  all  she  could  not  to 
attend  them,  but  her  mother-in-law  quarreled  with  her, 
said  she  wished  to  play  the  important,  and  that  it  was 
her  vanity  which  gave  her  these  ideas.  Her  husband, 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  189 

more  gentle,  desired  her  to  attend  these  fttes,  saying 
that  even  if  M.  de  Savoie  were  really  in  love  with  her, 
it  would  not  do  to  fail  in  anything  toward  him.  Soon 
after  M.  de  Savoie  spoke  to  the  Comtesse  de  Verrue. 
She  told  her  husband  and  her  mother-in-law,  and  used 
every  entreaty  in  order  to  prevail  upon  them  to  let  her 
go  and  pass  some  time  in  the  country.  They  would  not 
listen  to  her,  and  seeing  no  other  course  open,  she  feigned 
to  be  ill,  and  had  herself  sent  to  the  waters  of  Bourbon. 
She  wrote  to  her  father,  the  Due  de  Luynes,  to  meet 
her  there,  and  set  out  under  the  charge  of  the  Abbe"  de 
Verrue,  uncle  of  her  husband.  As  soon  as  the  Due  de 
Luynes  arrived  at  Bourbon,  and  became  acquainted  with 
the  danger  which  threatened  his  daughter,  he  conferred 
with  the  Abbe"  as  to  the  best  course  to  adopt,  and  agreed 
with  him  that  the  Comtesse  should  remain  away  from 
Turin  some  time,  in  order  that  M.  de  Savoie  might  get 
cured  of  his  passion.  M.  de  Luynes  little  thought  that 
he  had  conferred  with  a  wolf  who  wished  to  carry  off  his 
lamb.  The  Abbe  de  Verrue,  it  seems,  was  himself  vio- 
lently in  love  with  the  Comtesse,  and  directly  her  father 
had  gone  declared  the  state  of  his  heart.  Finding  him- 
self only  repulsed,  the  miserable  old  man  turned  his  love 
into  hate,  ill-treated  the  Comtesse,  and  upon  her  return 
to  Turin,  lost  no  opportunity  of  injuring  her  in  the  eyes 
of  her  husband  and  her  mother-in-law. 

The  Comtesse  de  Verrue  suffered  this  for  some  time, 
but  at  last  her  virtue  yielded  to  the  bad  treatment  she 
received.  She  listened  to  M.  de  Savoie,  and  delivered 
herself  up  to  him  in  order  to  free  herself  from  persecu- 
tion. Is  not  this  a  real  romance  ?  But  it  happened  in 
our  own  time,  under  the  eyes  and  to  the  knowledge  of 
everybody. 

When  the  truth  became  known,  the  Verrues  were  in 
despair,  although  they  had  only  themselves  to  blame  for 
for  what  had  happened.  Soon  the  new  mistress  ruled  all 
the  Court  of  Savoy,  whose  sovereign  was  at  her  feet  as 
before  a  goddess.  She  disposed  of  the  favors  of  her 
lover,  and  was  feared  and  courted  by  the  ministry.  Her 
haughtiness  made  her  hated;  she  was  poisoned;  M.  de 
Savoie  gave  her  a  subtle  antidote,  which  fortunately 


190  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

cured  her,  and  without  injury  to  her  beauty.  Her  reign 
still  lasted.  After  a  while  she  had  the  smallpox.  M. 
de  Savoie  tended  her  during  this  illness,  as  though  he 
had  been  a  nurse ;  and  although  her  face  suffered  a  little 
by  it,  he  loved  her  not  the  less.  But  he  loved  her  after 
his  own  fashion.  He  kept  her  shut  up  from  view,  and 
at  last  she  grew  so  tired  of  her  restraint  that  she  de- 
termined to  fly.  She  conferred  with  her  brother,  the 
Chevalier  de  Luynes,  who  served  with  much  distinction 
in  the  navy,  and  together  they  arranged  the  matter. 

They  seized  an  opportunity  when  M.  de  Savoie  had 
gone  on  a  tour  to  Chambe'ry,  and  departed  furtively. 
Crossing  our  frontier,  they  arrived  in  Paris,  where  the 
Comtesse  de  Verrue,  who  had  grown  very  rich,  took  a 
house,  and  by  degrees  succeeded  in  getting  people  to 
come  and  see  her,  though,  at  first,  owing  to  the  scandal 
of  her  life,  this  was  difficult.  In  the  end,  her  opulence 
gained  her  a  large  number  of  friends,  and  she  availed  her- 
self so  well  of  her  opportunities,  that  she  became  of 
much  importance,  and  influenced  strongly  the  govern- 
ment. But  that  time  goes  beyond  my  memoirs.  She 
left  in  Turin  a  son  and  a  daughter,  both  recognized  by 
M.  de  Savoie,  after  the  manner  of  our  King.  He  loved 
passionately  these  illegitimate  children,  and  married  the 
daughter  to  the  Prince  de  Carignan. 

Mademoiselle  de  Conde"  died  at  Paris  on  October  24th, 
after  a  long  illness,  from  a  disease  in  the  chest,  which 
consumed  her  less  than  the  torments  she  experienced 
without  end  from  M.  le  Prince,  her  father,  whose  con- 
tinual caprices  were  the  plague  of  all  those  over  whom 
he  could  exercise  them.  Almost  all  the  children  of  M. 
le  Prince  were  little  bigger  than  dwarfs,  which  caused 
M.  le  Prince,  who  was  tall,  to  say  in  pleasantry,  that  if 
his  race  went  on  always  thus  diminishing  it  would  come 
to  nothing.  People  attributed  the  cause  to  a  dwarf  that 
Madame  La  Princess  had  had  for  a  long  time  near  her. 

At  the  funeral  of  Mademoiselle  de  Conde",  a  very  in- 
decorous incident  happened.  My  mother,  who  was 
invited  to  take  part  in  the  ceremony,  went  to  the  Hotel 
de  Conde",  in  a  coach  and  six  horses,  to  join  Mademoi- 
selle d'Enghien.  When  the  procession  was  about  to  start 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  191 

the  Duchess  de  Chatillon  tried  to  take  precedence  of 
my  mother.  But  my  mother  called  upon  Mademoiselle 
d'Enghien  to  prevent  this,  or  else  to  allow  her  to  re- 
turn. Madame  de  Chatillon  persisted  in  her  attempt, 
saying  that  relationship  decided  the  question  of  prece- 
dence on  these  occasions,  and  that  she  was  a  nearer 
relative  to  the  deceased  than  my  mother.  My  mother, 
in  a  cold  but  haughty  tone,  replied  that  she  could  par- 
don this  mistake  on  account  of  the  youth  and  ignorance 
of  Madame  de  Chatillon;  but  that  in  all  such  cases  it 
was  rank  and  not  relationship  which  decided  the  point. 
The  dispute  was  at  last  put  an  end  to  by  Madame  de 
Chatillon  giving  way.  But  when  the  procession  started 
an  attempt  was  made  by  her  coachman  to  drive  before 
the  coach  of  my  mother,  and  one  of  the  company  had 
to  descend  and  decide  the  dispute.  On  the  morrow  M. 
le  Prince  sent  to  apologize  to  my  mother  for  the  occur- 
rence that  had  taken  place,  and  came  himself  shortly 
afterward  full  of  compliments  and  excuses.  I  never 
could  understand  what  induced  Madame  de  Chatillon  to 
take  this  fancy  into  her  head ;  but  she  was  much  ashamed 
of  it  afterward,  and  made  many  excuses  to  my  mother. 
I  experienced,  shortly  after  this,  at  Fontainebleau,  one 
of  the  greatest  afflictions  I  had  ever  endured.  I  mean 
the  loss  of  M.  de  La  Trappe.  These  (<  Memoirs }>  are  too 
profane  to  treat  slightly  of  a  life  so  sublimely  holy,  and 
of  a  death  so  glorious  and  precious  before  God.  I  will 
content  myself  with  saying  here  that  praises  of  M.  de 
La  Trappe  were  so  much  the  more  great  and  prolonged 
because  the  King  eulogized  him  in  public ;  that  he  wished 
to  see  narrations  of  his  death;  and  that  he  spoke  more 
than  once  of  it  to  his  grandsons  by  way  of  instruction. 
In  every  part  of  Europe  this  great  loss  was  severely  felt. 
The  church  wept  for  him,  and  the  world  even  rendered 
him  justice.  His  death  so  happy  for  him  and  so  sad  for 
his  friends,  happened  on  the  26th  of  October,  toward 
half  past  twelve,  in  the  arms  of  his  bishop,  and  in 
presence  of  his  community,  at  the  age  of  nearly  seventy- 
seven  years,  and  after  nearly  forty  years  of  the  most 
prodigious  penance.  I  cannot  omit,  however,  the  most 
touching  and  the  most  honorable  mark  of  his  friendship. 


192       MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

Lying  upon  the  ground,  on  straw  and  ashes,  in  order  to 
die  like  all  the  brethren  of  La  Trappe,  he  deigned,  of 
his  own  accord,  to  recollect  me,  and  charged  the  Abbe" 
de  La  Trappe  to  send  word  to  me,  on  his  part,  that  as 
he  was  quite  sure  of  my  affection  for  him,  he  reckoned 
that  I  should  not  doubt  of  his  tenderness  for  me.  I 
check  myself  at  this  point ;  everything  I  could  add  would 
be  too  much  out  of  place  here. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

Settlement  of  the  Spanish  Succession  —  King  William  III. —  New  Party 
in  Spain  —  Their  Attack  on  the  Queen  —  Perplexity  of  the  King 
—  His  Will  —  Scene  at  the  Palace  —  News  Sent  to  France  —  Coun- 
cil at  Madame  de  Maintenon's  —  The  King's  Decision  —  A  Public 
Declaration  —  Treatment  of  the  New  King  —  His  Departure  for 
'  Spain  —  Reflections  —  Philip  V.  Arrives  in  Spain  —  The  Queen  Dow- 
ager Banished. 

FOR  the  last  two  or  three  years  the  King  of  Spain  had 
been  in  very  weak  health,  and  in  danger  of  his 
life  several  times.  He  had  no  children,  and  no 
hope  of  having  any.  The  question,  therefore,  of  the 
succession  to  his  vast  empire  began  now  to  agitate  every 
European  Court.  The  King  of  England  (William  III.), 
who,  since  his  usurpation  had  much  augmented  his  credit 
by  the  grand  alliance  he  had  formed  against  France, 
and  of  which  he  had  been  the  soul  and  the  chief  up  to  the 
peace  of  Ryswick,  undertook  to  arrange  this  question  in 
a  manner  that  should  prevent  war  when  the  King  of 
Spain  died.  His  plan  was  to  give  Spain,  the  Indies,  the 
Low  Countries,  and  the  title  of  King  of  Spain  to  the 
Archduke,  second  son  of  the  Emperor;  Guipuscoa,  Na- 
ples, Sicily,  and  Lorraine,  to  France;  and  the  Milanese 
to  M.  de  Lorraine,  as  compensation  for  taking  away 
from  him  his  territory. 

The  King  of  England  made  this  proposition  first  of 
all  to  our  King;  who,  tired  of  war,  and  anxious  for  re- 
pose, as  was  natural  at  his  age,  made  few  difficulties, 
and  soon  accepted.  M.  de  Lorraine  was  not  in  a  posi- 
tion to  refuse  his  consent  to  a  change  recommended  by 
England,  France,  and  Holland.  Thus  much  being  set- 
tled, the  Emperor  was  next  applied  to.  But  he  was  not 
so  easy  to  persuade :  he  wished  to  inherit  the  entire  suc- 
cession, and  would  not  brook  the  idea  of  seeing  the 
house  of  Austria  driven  from  Italy,  as  it  would  have 
been  if  the  King  of  England's  proposal  had  been  car- 
is  (193) 


194  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

ried  out.  He  therefore  declared  it  was  altogether  un- 
heard of  and  unnatural  to  divide  a  succession  under  such 
circumstances,  and  that  he  would  hear  nothing  upon  the 
subject  until  after  the  death  of  the  King  of  Spain.  The  re- 
sistance he  made  caused  the  whole  scheme  to  come  to 
the  ears  of  the  King  of  Spain,  instead  of  remaining  a 
secret,  as  was  intended. 

The  King  of  Spain  made  a  great  stir  in  consequence  of 
what  had  taken  place,  as  though  the  project  had  been 
formed  to  strip  him,  during  his  lifetime,  of  his  realm. 
His  ambassador  in  England  spoke  so  insolently,  that  he 
was  ordered  to  leave  the  country  by  William,  and  retired 
to  Flanders.  The  Emperor,  who  did  not  wish  to  quarrel 
with  England,  intervened  at  this  point,  and  brought  about 
a  reconciliation  between  the  two  powers.  The  Spanish 
ambassador  returned  to  London. 

The  Emperor  next  endeavored  to  strengthen  his  party 
in  Spain.  The  reigning  Queen  was  his  sister-in-law  and 
was  all-powerful.  Such  of  the  nobility  and  of  the  minis- 
ters who  would  not  bend  before  her  she  caused  to  be 
dismissed;  and  none  were  favored  by  her  who  were  not 
partisans  of  the  house  of  Austria.  The  Emperor  had, 
therefore,  a  powerful  ally  at  the  Court  of  Madrid  to  aid 
him  in  carrying  out  his  plans ;  and  the  King  was  so  much 
in  his  favor,  that  he  had  made  a  will  bequeathing  his  suc- 
cession to  the  Archduke.  Everything  therefore  seemed  to 
promise  success  to  the  Emperor. 

But  just  at  this  time  a  small  party  arose  in  Spain,  equally 
opposed  to  the  Emperor,  and  to  the  propositions  of  the 
King  of  England.  This  party  consisted  at  first  of  only  five 
persons, — namely,  Villafranca,  Medina-Sidonia,  Villagar- 
cias,  Villena,  and  San  Estevan,  all  of  them  nobles,  and  well 
instructed  in  the  affairs  of  government.  Their  wish  was 
to  prevent  the  dismemberment  of  the  Spanish  kingdom  by 
conferring  the  whole  succession  upon  the  son  of  the  only 
son  of  the  Queen  of  France,  Maria  Theresa,  sister  of  the 
King  of  Spain.  There  were,  however,  two  great  obstacles 
in  their  path.  Maria  Theresa,  upon  her  marriage  with  our 
King,  had  solemnly  renounced  all  claim  to  the  Spanish 
throne,  and  these  renunciations  had  been  repeated  at  the 
Peace  of  the  Pyrenees.  The  other  obstacle  was  the  affec- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  195 

tion  the  King  of  Spain  bore  to  the  house  of  Austria, — an 
affection  which  naturally  would  render  him  opposed  to  any 
project  by  which  a  rival  house  would  be  aggrandized  at  its 
expense. 

As  to  the  first  obstacle,  these  politicians  were  of  opin- 
ion that  the  renunciations  made  by  Maria  Theresa  held 
good  only  as  far  as  they  applied  to  the  object  for  which 
they  were  made.  That  object  was  to  prevent  the  crown 
of  France  and  Spain  from  being  united  upon  one  head,  as 
might  have  happened  in  the  person  of  the  Dauphin.  But 
now  that  the  Dauphin  had  three  sons,  the  second  of  whom 
could  be  called  to  the  throne  of  Spain,  the  renunciations 
of  the  Queen  became  of  no  import.  As  to  the  second 
obstacle,  it  was  only  to  be  removed  by  great  perseverance 
and  exertion;  but  they  determined  to  leave  no  stone 
unturned  to  achieve  their  ends. 

One  of  the  first  resolutions  of  this  little  party  was  to 
bind  each  other  to  secrecy.  Their  next  was  to  admit 
into  their  confidence  Cardinal  Portocarrero,  a  determined 
enemy  to  the  Queen.  Then  they  commenced  an  attack 
upon  the  Queen  in  the  Council;  and  being  supported  by 
the  popular  voice,  succeeded  in  driving  out  of  the  coun- 
try Madame  Berlips,  a  German  favorite  of  hers,  who  was 
much  hated  on  account  of  the  undue  influence  she  ex- 
erted, and  the  rapacity  she  displayed.  The  next  measure 
was  of  equal  importance.  Madrid  and  its  environs  groaned 
under  the  weight  of  a  regiment  of  Germans  commanded 
by  the  Prince  of  Darmstadt.  The  Council  decreed  that 
this  regiment  should  be  disbanded,  and  the  Prince  thanked 
for  his  assistance.  These  two  blows  following  upon  each 
other  so  closely,  frightened  the  Queen,  isolated  her,  and 
put  it  out  of  her  power  to  act  during  the  rest  of  the  life 
of  the  King. 

There  was  yet  one  of  the  preliminary  steps  to  take, 
without  which  it  was  thought  that  success  would  not  be 
certain.  This  was  to  dismiss  the  King's  Confessor,  who 
had  been  given  to  him  by  the  Queen,  and  who  was  a 
zealous  Austrian. 

Cardinal  Portocarrero  was  charged  with  this  duty,  and 
he  succeeded  so  well,  that  two  birds  were  killed  with  one 
stone.  The  Confessor  was  dismissed,  and  another  was  put 


196  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

in  his  place,  who  could  be  relied  upon  to  do  and  say  ex- 
actly as  he  was  requested.  Thus,  the  King  of  Spain  was 
influenced  in  his  conscience,  which  had  over  him  so  much 
the  more  power,  because  he  was  beginning  to  look  upon  the 
things  of  this  world  by  the  glare  of  that  terrible  flambeau 
that  is  lighted  for  the  dying.  The  Confessor  and  the 
Cardinal,  after  a  short  time,  began  unceasingly  to  attack 
the  King  upon  the  subject  of  the  succession.  The  King, 
enfeebled  by  illness,  and  by  a  lifetime  of  weak  health, 
had  little  power  of  resistance.  Pressed  by  the  many 
temporal,  and  affrighted  by  the  many  spiritual  reasons 
which  were  brought  forward  by  the  two  ecclesiastics, 
with  no  friend  near  whose  opinion  he  could  consult,  no 
Austrian  at  hand  to  confer  with,  and  no  Spaniard  who 
was  not  opposed  to  Austria; — the  King  fell  into  a  pro- 
found perplexity,  and  in  this  strait  proposed  to  consult  the 
Pope  as  an  authority  whose  decision  would  be  infallible. 
The  Cardinal,  who  felt  persuaded  that  the  Pope  was  suf- 
ficiently enlightened  and  sufficiently  impartial  to  declare 
in  favor  of  France,  assented  to  this  step;  and  the  King 
of  Spain  accordingly  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Rome,  feel- 
ing much  relieved  by  the  course  he  had  adopted. 

The  Pope  replied  at  once  and  in  the  most  decided  man- 
ner. He  said  he  saw  clearly  that  the  children  of  the 
Dauphin  were  the  next  heirs  to  the  Spanish  throne,  and 
that  the  House  of  Austria  had  not  the  smallest  right  to 
it.  He  recommended  therefore  the  King  of  Spain  to  ren- 
der justice  to  whom  justice  was  due,  and  to  assign  the 
succession  of  his  monarchy  to  a  son  of  France.  This  re- 
ply, and  the  letter  which  had  given  rise  to  it,  were  kept 
so  profoundly  secret  that  they  were  not  known  in  Spain 
until  after  the  King's  death. 

Directly  the  Pope's  answer  had  been  received  the  King 
was  pressed  to  make  a  fresh  will,  and  to  destroy  that 
which  he  had  previously  made  in  favor  of  the  Archduke. 
The  new  will  accordingly  was  at  once  drawn  up  and 
signed;  and  the  old  one  burned  in  the  presence  of  sev- 
eral witnesses. 

Matters  having  arrived  at  this  point,  it  was  thought 
opportune  to  admit  others  to  the  knowledge  of  what  had 
taken  place.  The  Council  of  State,  consisting  of  eight 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  197 

members,  four  of  whom  were  already  in  the  secret,  was 
made  acquainted  with  the  movements  of  the  new  party; 
and,  after  a  little  hesitation,  were  gained  over. 

The  King,  meantime,  was  drawing  near  to  his  end. 
A  few  days  after  he  had  signed  the  new  will  he  was  at 
the  last  extremity,  and  in  a  few  days  more  he  died.  In 
his  last  moments  the  Queen  had  been  kept  from  him  as 
much  as  possible,  and  was  unable  in  any  way  to  inter- 
fere with  the  plans  that  had  been  so  deeply  laid.  As 
soon  as  the  King  was  dead  the  first  thing  to  be  done  was 
to  open  his  will.  The  Council  of  State  assembled  for  that 
purpose,  and  all  the  grandees  of  Spain  who  were  in  the 
capital  took  part  in  it.  The  singularity  and  the  impor- 
tance of  such  an  event,  interesting  many  millions  of  men, 
drew  all  Madrid  to  the  Palace,  and  the  rooms  adjoining 
that  in  which  the  Council  assembled  were  filled  to  suffo- 
cation. All  the  foreign  ministers  besieged  the  door. 
Every  one  sought  to  be  the  first  to  know  the  choice  of 
the  King  who  had  just  died,  in  order  to  be  the  first  to 
inform  his  court.  Blecourt,  our  ambassador,  was  there 
with  the  others,  without  knowing  more  than  they;  and 
Count  d'Harrach,  ambassador  from  the  Emperor,  who 
counted  upon  the  will  in  favor  of  the  Archduke,  was  there 
also,  with  a  triumphant  look,  just  opposite  the  door,  and 
close  by  it. 

At  last  the  door  opened,  and  immediately  closed  again. 
The  Due  d'Abrantes,  a  man  of  much  wit  and  humor,  but 
not  to  be  trifled  with,  came  out.  He  wished  to  have  the 
pleasure  of  announcing  upon  whom  the  successorship  had 
fallen,  and  was  surrounded  as  soon  as  he  appeared. 
Keeping  silence,  and  turning  his  eyes  on  all  sides,  he 
fixed  them  for  a  moment  on  Blecourt,  then  looked  in 
another  direction;  as  if  seeking  some  one  else.  Ble"court 
interpreted  this  action  as  a  bad  omen.  The  Due  d'Ab- 
rantes feigning  at  last  to  discover  the  Count  d'Harrach, 
assumed  a  gratified  look,  flew  to  him,  embraced  him,  and 
said  aloud  in  Spanish,  <(  Sir,  it  is  with  much  pleasure ; w 
then  pausing,  as  though  to  embrace  him  better,  he  added : 
(<  Yes,  sir,  it  is  with  an  extreme  joy  that  for  all  my  life,* 
—  here  the  embraces  were  redoubled  as  an  excuse  for  a 
second  pause,  after  which  he  went  on  — <(  and  with  the 


198  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

greatest  contentment  that  I  part  from  you,  and  take  leave 
of  the  very  august  House  of  Austria."  So  saying  he 
clove  the  crowd,  and  every  one  ran  after  him  to  know 
the  name  of  the  real  heir. 

The  astonishment  and  indignation  of  Count  d'Harrach 
disabled  him  from  speaking,  but  showed  themselves  upon 
his  face  in  all  their  extent.  He  remained  motionless 
some  moments,  and  then  went  away  in  the  greatest  con- 
fusion at  the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  duped. 

Ble'court,  on  the  other  hand,  ran  home  without  asking 
other  information,  and  at  once  dispatched  to  the  King  a 
courier,  who  fell  ill  at  Bayonne,  and  was  replaced  by  one 
named  by  Harcourt,  then  at  Bayonne  getting  ready  for 
the  occupation  of  Guipuscoa.  The  news  arrived  at  Court 
( Fontainebleau )  in  the  month  of  November.  The  King 
was  going  out  shooting  that  day;  but,  upon  learning 
what  had  taken  place,  at  once  countermanded  the  sport, 
announced  the  death  of  the  King  of  Spain,  and  at  three 
o'clock  held  a  council  of  the  ministers  in  the  apartments 
of  Madame  de  Maintenon.  This  council  lasted  until  past 
seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Monseigneur,  who  had 
been  out  wolf  hunting,  returned  in  time  to  attend  it. 
On  the  next  morning,  Wednesday,  another  council  was 
held,  and  in  the  evening  a  third,  in  the  apartments  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon.  However  accustomed  persons 
were  at  the  Court  to  the  favor  Madame  de  Maintenon 
enjoyed  there,  they  were  extremely  surprised  to  see  two 
councils  assembled  in  her  rooms  for  the  greatest  and 
most  important  deliberation  that  had  taken  place  during 
this  long  reign,  or  indeed  during  many  others. 

The  King,  Monseigneur,  the  Chancellor,  the  Due  de 
Brinvilliers,  Torcy,  and  Madame  de  Maintenon,  were  the 
only  persons  who  deliberated  upon  this  affair.  Madame 
de  Maintenon  preserved  at  first  a  modest  silence ;  but  the 
King  forced  her  to  give  her  opinion  after  everybody  had 
spoken  except  herself.  The  council  was  divided.  Two 
were  for  keeping  to  the  treaty  that  had  been  signed 
with  King  William,  two  for  accepting  the  will. 

Monseigneur,  drowned  as  he  was  in  fat  and  sloth, 
appeared  in  quite  another  character  from  his  usual  one, 
at  these  councils.  To  the  great  surprise  of  the  King 


DUKE  OF  SAINT-SIMON  199 

and  his  assistants,  when  it  was  his  turn  to  speak  he 
expressed  himself  with  force  in  favor  of  accepting  the 
testament.  Then,  turning  toward  the  King  in  a  respect- 
ful but  firm  manner,  he  said  that  he  took  the  liberty  of 
asking  for  his  inheritance,  that  the  monarchy  of  Spain 
belonged  to  the  queen,  his  mother,  and  consequently  to 
him ;  that  he  surrendered  it  willingly  to  his  second  son  for 
the  tranquillity  of  Europe ;  but  that  to  none  other  would 
he  yield  an  inch  of  ground.  These  words,  spoken  with 
an  inflamed  countenance,  caused  excessive  surprise.  The 
King  listened  very  attentively,  and  then  said  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  "And  you,  Madame,  what  do  you  think 
upon  all  this  ? a  She  began  by  affecting  modesty ;  but 
pressed,  and  even  commanded  to  speak,  she  expressed 
herself  with  becoming  confusion ;  briefly  sang  the  praises 
of  Monseigneur,  whom  she  feared  and  liked  but  little  — 
sentiments  perfectly  reciprocated  —  and  at  last  was  for 
accepting  the  will. 

The  King  did  not  yet  declare  himself.  He  said  that 
the  affair  might  well  be  allowed  to  sleep  for  four-and- 
twenty  hours,  in  order  that  they  might  ascertain  if  the 
Spaniards  approved  the  choice  of  their  King.  He  dis- 
missed the  council,  but  ordered  it  to  meet  again  the 
next  evening  at  the  same  hour  and  place.  Next  day, 
several  couriers  arrived  from  Spain,  and  the  news  they 
brought  left  no  doubt  upon  the  King's  mind  as  to  the 
wishes  of  the  Spanish  nobles  and  people  upon  the  sub- 
ject of  the  will.  When  therefore  the  council  reassem- 
bled in  the  apartments  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  the 
King,  after  fully  discussing  the  matter,  resolved  to  accept 
the  will. 

At  the  first  receipt  of  the  news  the  King  and  his 
ministers  had  been  overwhelmed  with  a  surprise  that 
they  could  not  recover  from  for  several  days.  When  the 
news  was  spread  abroad,  the  Court  was  equally  surprised. 
The  foreign  ministers  passed  whole  nights  deliberating 
upon  the  course  the  King  would  adopt.  Nothing  else  was 
spoken  of  but  this  matter.  The  King,  one  evening,  to 
divert  himself,  asked  the  princesses  their  opinion.  They 
replied  that  he  should  send  M.  le  Due  d'Anjou  (the  sec- 
ond son  of  Monseigneur)  into  Spain,  and  that  this  was 


200  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

the  general  sentiment.  "I  am  sure,"  replied  the  King, 
w  that  whatever  course  I  adopt  many  people  will  condemn 
me.w 

At  last,  on  Tuesday,  the  i6th  of  November,  the  King 
publicly  declared  himself.  The  Spanish  ambassador  had 
received  intelligence  which  proved  the  eagerness  of 
Spain  to  welcome  the  Due  d'Anjou  as  its  King.  There 
seemed  to  be  no  doubt  of  the  matter.  The  King,  imme- 
diately after  getting  up,  called  the  ambassador  into  his 
cabinet,  where  M.  le  Due  d'Anjou  had  already  arrived. 
Then,  pointing  to  the  Duke,  he  told  the  ambassador  he 
might  salute  him  as  King  of  Spain.  The  ambassador 
threw  himself  upon  his  knees  after  the  fashion  of  his 
country,  and  addressed  to  the  Duke  a  tolerable  long  com- 
pliment in  the  Spanish  language.  Immediately  afterward, 
the  King,  contrary  to  all  custom,  opened  the  two  folding 
doors  of  his  cabinet,  and  commanded  everybody  to  enter. 
It  was  a  very  full  Court  that  day.  The  King,  majestically 
turning  his  eyes  toward  the  numerous  company,  and 
showing  them  M.  le  Due  d'Anjou  said :  <(  Gentlemen,  be- 
hold the  King  of  Spain.  His  birth  called  him  to  that 
crown;  the  late  King  also  has  called  him  to  it  by  his 
will;  the  whole  nation  wished  for  him,  and  has  asked  me 
for  him  eagerly;  it  is  the  will  of  heaven;  I  have  obeyed 
it  with  pleasure. B  And  then,  turning  toward  his  grandson, 
he  said,  (<  Be  a  good  Spaniard,  that  is  your  first  duty ; 
but  remember  that  you  are  a  Frenchman  born,  in  order 
that  the  union  between  the  two  nations  may  be  pre- 
served; it  will  be  the  means  of  rendering  both  happy, 
and  of  preserving  the  peace  of  Europe. }>  Pointing  after- 
ward with  his  finger  to  the  Due  d'Anjou,  to  indicate  him 
to  the  ambassador,  the  King  added,  <(  If  he  follows  my 
counsels  you  will  be  a  grandee,  and  soon;  he  cannot  do 
better  than  follow  your  advice. w 

When  the  hubbub  of  the  courtiers  had  subsided,  the 
two  other  sons  of  France,  brothers  of  M.  d'Anjou,  ar- 
rived, and  all  three  embraced  each  other  tenderly  several 
times,  with  tears  in  their  eyes.  The  ambassador  of  the 
Emperor  immediately  entered,  little  suspecting  what  had 
taken  place,  and  was  confounded  when  he  learned  the 
news.  The  King  afterward  went  to  mass,  during  which 


DUKE  OF  SAINT-SIMON  201 

at  his  right  hand  was  the  new  King  of  Spain,  who  dur- 
ing the  rest  of  his  stay  in  France,  was  publicly  treated 
in  every  respect  as  a  sovereign,  by  the  King  and  all  the 
Court. 

The  joy  of  Monseigneur  at  all  this  was  very  great. 
He  seemed  beside  himself,  and  continually  repeated  that 
no  man  had  ever  found  himself  in  a  condition  to  say  as 
he  could,  tt  The  King  my  father,  and  the  King  my  son. w 
If  he  had  known  the  prophecy  which  from  his  birth  had 
been  said  of  him,  (<  A  King's  son,  a  King's  father,  and 
never  a  King,*  which  everybody  had  heard  repeated  a 
thousand  times,  I  think  he  would  not  have  so  much 
rejoiced,  however  vain  may  be  such  prophecies.  The 
King  himself  was  so  overcome,  that  at  supper  he  turned 
to  the  Spanish  ambassador  and  said  that  the  whole  affair 
seemed  to  him  like  a  dream.  In  public,  as  I  have  ob- 
served, the  new  King  of  Spain  was  treated  in  every  re- 
spect as  a  sovereign,  but  in  private  he  was  still  the  Due 
d'Anjou.  He  passed  his  evenings  in  the  apartments  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  where  he  played  at  all  sorts  of 
children's  games,  scampering  to  and"  fro  with  Messeign- 
eurs  his  brothers,  with  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bour- 
gogne,  and  with  the  few  ladies  to  whom  access  was  per- 
mitted. 

On  Friday,  the  igth  of  November,  the  new  King  of 
Spain  put  on  mourning.  Two  days  after,  the  King  did 
the  same.  On  Monday,  the  22d,  letters  were  received 
from  the  Elector  of  Bavaria,  stating  that  the  King  of 
Spain  had  been  proclaimed  at  Brussels  with  much  re- 
joicing and  illuminations.  On  Sunday,  the  28th,  M. 
Vaudemont,  Governor  of  the  Milanese,  sent  word  that  he 
had  been  proclaimed  in  that  territory,  and  with  the  same 
demonstrations  of  joy  as  at  Brussels. 

On  Saturday,  the  4th  of  December,  the  King  of  Spain 
set  out  for  his  dominions.  The  King  rode  with  him  in 
his  coach  as  far  as  Sceaux,  surrounded  in  pomp  by  many 
more  guards  than  usual,  gendarmes  and  light  horse,  all 
the  road  covered  with  coaches  and  people ;  and  Sceaux, 
where  they  arrived  a  little  after  midday,  full  of  ladies 
and  courtiers,  guarded  by  two  companies  of  musketeers. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  leave-taking,  and  all  the  family 


202  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

was  collected  alone  in  the  last  room  of  the  apartment; 
but  as  the  doors  were  left  open,  the  tears  they  shed  so 
bitterly  could  be  seen.  In  presenting  the  King-  of  Spain 
to  the  Princes  of  the  blood,  the  King  said  — <(  Behold 
the  Princes  of  my  blood  and  of  yours;  the  two  nations 
from  this  time  ought  to  regard  themselves  as  one  nation ; 
they  ought  to  have  the  same  interests;  therefore  I 
wish  these  Princes  to  be  attached  to  you  as  to  me; 
you  cannot  have  friends  more  faithful  or  more  certain.* 
All  this  lasted  a  good  hour  and  a  half.  But  the  time  of 
separation  at  last  came.  The  King  conducted  the  King 
of  Spain  to  the  end  of  the  apartment,  and  embraced  him 
several  times,  holding  him  a  long  while  in  his  arms. 
Monseigneur  did  the  same.  The  spectacle  was  extremely 
touching. 

The  King  returned  into  the  palace  for  some  time,  in 
order  to  recover  himself.  Monseigneur  got  into  a  caliche 
alone,  and  went  to  Meudon ;  and  the  King  of  Spain,  with 
his  brother,  M  de  Noailles,  and  a  large  number  of  court- 
iers, set  out  on  his  journey.  The  King  gave  to  his 
grandson  twenty-one  purses  of  a  thousand  louis  each,  for 
pocket  money,  and  much  money  besides  for  presents. 
Let  us  leave  'them  on  their  journey,  and  admire  the 
Providence  which  sports  with  the  thoughts  of  men  and  dis- 
poses of  states.  What  would  have  said  Ferdinand  and 
Isabella,  Charles  V.  and  Philip  II.,  who  so  many  times 
attempted  to  conquer  France,  and  who  have  been  so  frequent- 
ly accused  of  aspiring  to  universal  monarchy,  and  Philip 
IV. ,  even  with  all  his  precautions  at  the  marriage  of  the 
King  and  at  the  peace  of  the  Pyrenees, — what  would 
they  have  said,  to  see  a  son  of  France  become  King  of 
Spain,  by  the  will  and  testament  of  the  last  of  their 
blood  in  Spain,  and  by  the  universal  wish  of  all  the 
Spaniards  —  without  plot,  without  intrigue,  without  a  shot 
being  fired  on  our  part,  and  without  the  sanction  of  our 
King,  nay  even  to  his  extreme  surprise  and  that  of  all 
his  ministers,  who  had  only  the  trouble  of  making  up 
their  minds  and  of  accepting  ?  What  great  and  wise  re- 
flections might  be  made  thereon !  But  they  would  be  out 
of  place  in  these  Memoirs. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  203 

The  King  of  Spain  arrived  in  Madrid  on  the  ipth  of 
February.  From  his  first  entrance  into  the  country  he  had 
everywhere  been  most  warmly  welcomed.  Acclamations 
were  uttered  when  he  appeared ;  fetes  and  bullfights  were 
given  in  his  honor;  the  nobles  and  ladies  pressed  around 
him.  He  had  been  proclaimed  in  Madrid  some  time  be- 
fore, in  the  midst  of  demonstrations  of  joy.  Now  that 
he  had  arrived  among  his  subjects  there,  that  joy  burst 
out  anew.  There  was  such  a  crowd  in  the  streets  that 
sixty  people  were  stifled!  All  along  the  line  of  route 
were  an  infinity  of  coaches  filled  with  ladies  richly  decked. 
The  streets  through  which  he  passed  were  hung  in  the 
Spanish  fashion;  stands  were  placed,  adorned  with  fine 
pictures  and  a  vast  number  of  silver  vessels;  triumphal 
arches  were  built  from  side  to  side.  It  is  impossible  to 
conceive  a  greater  or  more  general  demonstration  of  joy. 
The  Buen-Retiro,  where  the  new  King  took  up  his  quar- 
ters, was  filled  with  the  Court  and  the  nobility.  The 
Junta  and  a  number  of  great  men,  received  him  at  the 
door,  and  the  Cardinal  Portocarrero,  who  was  there, 
threw  himself  on  his  knees,  and  wished  to  kiss  the 
King's  hand.  But  the  King  would  not  permit  this; 
raised  the  Cardinal,  embraced  him,  and  treated  him  as  his 
father.  The  Cardinal  wept  with  joy,  and  could  not  take 
his  eyes  off  the  King.  He  was  just  then  in  the  flower 
of  his  first  youth  —  fair  like  the  late  King  Charles,  and 
the  Queen  his  grandmother;  grave,  silent,  measured, 
self-contained,  formed  exactly  to  live  among  Spaniards. 
With  all  this,  very  attentive  in  his  demeanor,  and  pay- 
ing everybody  the  attention  due  to  him,  having  taken  les- 
sons from  d'Harcourt  on  the  way.  Indeed  he  took  off 
his  hat  or  raised  it  to  nearly  everybody,  so  that  the 
Spaniards  spoke  on  the  subject  to  the  Due  d'Harcourt, 
who  replied  to  them  that  the  King  in  all  essential  things 
would  conform  himself  to  usage,  but  that  in  others  he 
must  be  allowed  to  act  according  to  French  politeness. 
It  cannot  be  imagined  how  much  these  trifling  external 
attentions  attached  all  hearts  to  this  Prince. 

He  was  indeed,  completely  triumphant  in  Spain,  and 
the  Austrian  party  as  completely  routed.  The  Queen  of 


204       MEMOIRS   OF   THE  DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON 

Spain  was  sent  away  from  Madrid,  and  banished  to  To- 
ledo, where  she  remained  with  but  a  small  suite,  and 
still  less  consideration.  Each  day  the  nobles,  the  citi- 
zens, and  the  people  had  given  fresh  proof  of  their  hatred 
against  the  Germans  and  against  the  Queen.  She  had 
been  almost  entirely  abandoned,  and  was  refused  the  most 
ordinary  necessaries  of  her  state. 


RECEPTION  BY  CARDINAL  RICHELIEU 
Pfiotogravure  after  A.  Moreau 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

Marriage  of  Philip  V. — The  Queen's  Journey — Rival  Dishes  —  A 
Delicate  Quarrel  —  The  King's  Journey  to  Italy  —  The  Intrigues 
against  Catinat  —  Vaudemont's  Success  —  Appointment  of  Villeroy 
—  The  First  Campaign  —  A  Snuffbox  —  Prince  Eugene's  Plan  — 
Attack  and  Defense  of  Cremona  —  Villeroy  Made  Prisoner  —  Ap- 
pointment of  M.  de  Venddme. 

SHORTLY  after  his  arrival  in  Madrid,  the  new  King  of 
Spain  began  to  look  about  him  for  a  wife,  and  his 
marriage  with  the  second  daughter  of  M.  de  Savoie 
(younger  sister  of  Madame  de  Bourgogne)  was  decided 
upon  as  an  alliance  of  much  honor  and  importance  to  M. 
de  Savoie,  and,  by  binding  him  to  her  interest,  of  much 
utility  to  France.  An  extraordinary  ambassador  (Homo- 
de'i,  brother  of  the  Cardinal  of  that  name)  was  sent  to 
Turin  to  sign  the  contract  of  marriage,  and  bring  back 
the  new  Queen  into  Spain.  He  was  also  appointed  her 
Ecuyer,  and  the  Princess  des  Ursins  was  selected  as  her 
Camarera  Mayor,  a  very  important  office.  The  Princess 
des  Ursins  seemed  just  adapted  for  it.  A  Spanish  lady 
could  not  have  been  relied  upon:  a  lady  of  our  Court 
would  not  have  been  fit  for  the  post.  The  Princess  des 
Ursins  was,  as  it  were,  both  French  and  Spanish  —  French 
by  birth,  Spanish  by  marriage.  She  had  passed  the 
greater  part  of  her  life  in  Rome  and  Italy,  and  was  a 
widow  without  children.  I  shall  have  more  hereafter  to 
say  of  this  celebrated  woman,  who  so  long  and  so  pub- 
licly governed  the  Court  and  Crown  of  Spain,  and  who 
has  made  so  much  stir  in  the  world  by  her  reign  and  by 
her  fall,  at  present  let  me  finish  with  the  new  Queen  of 
Spain. 

She  was  married,  then,  at  Turin,  on  the  nth  of  Sep- 
tember, with  but  little  display,  the  King  being  repre- 
sented by  procuration,  and  set  out  on  the  i3th  for  Nice, 
where  she  was  to  embark  on  board  the  Spanish  galleys 
for  Barcelona.  The  King  of  Spain,  meanwhile,  after 

(205) 


206  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

hearing  news  that  he  had  been  proclaimed  with  much 
unanimity  and  rejoicing  in  Peru  and  Mexico,  left  Madrid 
on  the  5th  of  September,  to  journey  through  Aragon  and 
Catalonia  to  Barcelona  to  meet  his  wife.  He  was  much 
welcomed  on  his  route,  above  all  by  Saragossa,  which 
received  him  magnificently. 

The  new  Queen  of  Spain,  brought  by  the  French  gal- 
leys to  Nice,  was  so  fatigued  with  the  sea  when  she  ar- 
rived there,  that  she  determined  to  finish  the  rest  of  the 
journey  by  land,  through  Provence  and  Languedoc.  Her 
graces,  her  presence  of  mind,  the  aptness  and  the  politeness 
of  her  short  replies,  and  her  judicious  curiosity,  remark- 
able at  her  age,  surprised  everybody,  and  gave  great 
hopes  to  the  Princess  des  Ursins. 

When  within  two  days'  journey  of  Barcelona,  the  Queen 
was  met  by  a  messenger,  bearing  presents  and  compli- 
ments from -the  King.  All  her  household  joined  her  at 
the  same  time,  being  sent  on  in  advance  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  her  Piedmontese  attendants  were  dismissed. 
She  appeared  more  affected  by  this  separation  than 
Madame  de  Bourgogne  had  been  when  parting  from  her 
attendants.  She  wept  bitterly,  and  seemed  quite  lost  in 
the  midst  of  so  many  new  faces,  the  most  familiar  of 
which  (that  of  Madame  des  Ursins)  was  quite  fresh  to 
her.  Upon  arriving  at  Figueras,  the  King,  impatient  to 
see  her,  went  on  before  on  horseback.  In  this  first  em- 
barrassment Madame  des  Ursins,  although  completely 
unknown  to  the  King,  and  but  little  known  to  the  Queen, 
was  of  great  service  to  both. 

Upon  arriving  at  Figueras,  the  bishop  diocesan  married 
them  anew,  with  little  ceremony,  and  soon  after  they  sat 
down  to  supper,  waited  upon  by  the  Princess  des  Ursins 
and  the  ladies  of  the  palace,  half  the  dishes  being  French, 
half  Spanish.  This  mixture  displeased  the  ladies  of  the 
palace  and  several  of  the  Spanish  grandees,  who  plotted 
with  the  ladies  openly  to  mark  their  displeasure;  and 
they  did  so  in  a  scandalous  manner.  Under  one  pretext 
or  another — such  as  the  weight  or  heat  of  the  dishes  — 
not  one  of  the  French  dishes  arrived  upon  the  table;  all 
were  upset;  while  the  Spanish  dishes,  on  the  contrary, 
were  served  without  any  accident.  The  affectation  and 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  207 

the  air  of  chagrin,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  of  the  ladies  of  the 
palace,  were  too  visible  not  to  be  perceived.  But  the 
King  and  Queen  were  wise  enough  to  appear  not  to 
notice  this;  and  Madame  des  Ursins,  much  astonished, 
said  not  a  word. 

After  a  long  and  disagreeable  supper,  the  King  and 
Queen  withdrew.  Then  feelings  which  had  been  kept  in 
during  supper  overflowed.  The  Queen  wept  for  her 
Piedmontese  women.  Like  a  child,  as  she  was,  she 
thought  herself  lost  in  the  hands  of  ladies  so  insolent; 
and  when  it  was  time  to  go  to  bed,  she  said  flatly  that 
she  would  not  go,  and  that  she  wished  to  return  home. 
Everything  was  done  to  console  her;  but  the  astonish- 
ment and  embarrassment  were  great  indeed  when  it  was 
found  that  all  was  of  no  avail.  The  King  had  undressed, 
and  was  awaiting  her.  Madame  des  Ursins  was  at 
length  obliged  to  go  and  tell  him  the  resolution  the 
Queen  had  taken.  He  was  piqued  and  annoyed.  He 
had  until  that  time  lived  with  the  completest  regularity; 
which  had  contributed  to  make  him  find  the  Princess 
more  to  his  taste  than  he  might  otherwise  have  done. 
He  was  therefore  affected  by  her  fantaisie,  and  by  the 
same  reason  easily  persuaded  that  she  would  not  keep 
to  it  beyond  the  first  night.  They  did  not  see  each 
other  therefore  until  the  morrow,  and  after  they  were 
dressed.  It  was  lucky  that  by  the  Spanish  custom  no 
one  was  permitted  to  be  present  when  the  newly  mar- 
ried pair  went  to  bed;  or  this  affair,  which  went  no 
further  than  the  two  young  couple,  Madame  des  Ursins, 
and  one  or  two  domestics,  might  have  made  a  very  un- 
pleasant noise. 

Madame  des  Ursins  consulted  with  two  of  the  courtiers, 
as  to  the  best  measures  to  be  adopted  with  a  child  who 
showed  so  much  force  and  resolution.  The  night  was 
passed  in  exhortations  and  in  promises  upon  what  had 
occurred  at  the  supper;  and  the  Queen  consented  at  last 
to  remain  Queen.  The  Duke  of  Medina-Sidonia  and 
Count  San  Estevan  were  consulted  on  the  morrow. 
They  were  of  opinion  that  in  his  turn  the  King  in 
order  to  mortify  and  reduce  her  to  terms,  should  not 
visit  the  Queen  on  the  following  night.  This  opinion 


208  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

was  acted  upon.  The  King  and  Queen  did  not  see 
each  other  in  private  that  day.  In  the  evening  the 
Queen  was  very  sorry.  Her  pride  and  her  little  vanity 
were  wounded ;  perhaps  also  she  had  found  the  King  to 
her  taste. 

The  ladies  and  the  grand  seigneurs  who  had  attended 
at  the  supper  were  lectured  for  what  had  occurred  there. 
Excuses,  promises,  demands  for  pardon,  followed;  all 
was  put  right ;  the  third  day  was  tranquil,  and  the  third 
night  still  more  agreeable  to  the  young  people.  On  the 
fourth  day  they  went  to  Barcelona  where  only  ffaes  and 
pleasures  awaited  them.  Soon  after  they  set  out  for 
Madrid. 

At  the  commencement  of  the  following  year  (1702),  it 
was  resolved,  after  much  debate,  at  our  Court,  that  Philip 
V.  should  make  a  journey  to  Italy,  and  on  Easter  day 
he  set  out.  He  went  to  Naples,  Leghorn,  Milan,  and 
Alessandria.  While  at  the  first  named  place  a  conspiracy 
which  had  been  hatching  there  against  his  life,  was  dis- 
covered and  put  down.  But  other  things  which  previ- 
ously occurred  in  Italy  ought  to  have  been  related  before. 
I  must  therefore  return  to  them  now. 

From  the  moment  that  Philip  V.  ascended  the  Spanish 
throne  it  was  seen  that  a  war  was  certain.  England 
maintained  for  some  time  an  obstinate  silence,  refusing 
to  acknowledge  the  new  King;  the  Dutch  secretly  mur- 
mured against  him,  and  the  Emperor  openly  prepared 
for  battle.  Italy,  it  was  evident  at  once,  would  be  the 
spot  on  which  hostilities  would  commence,  and  our  King 
lost  no  time  in  taking  measures  to  be  ready  for  events. 
By  land  and  by  sea  every  preparation  was  made  for  the 
struggle  about  to  take  place. 

After  some  time  the  war,  waited  for  and  expected  by 
all  Europe,  at  last  broke  out,  by  some  Imperialistic  troops 
firing  upon  a  handful  of  men  near  Albaredo.  One 
Spaniard  was  killed,  and  all  the  rest  of  the  men  taken 
prisoners.  The  Imperialists  would  not  give  them  up 
until  a  cartel  was  arranged.  The  King,  upon  hearing 
this,  at  once  dispatched  the  general  officers  to  Italy. 
Our  troops  were  to  be  commanded  by  Catinat,  under  M. 
de  Savoie;  and  the  Spanish  troops  by  Vaudemont,  who 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  209 

was  Governor-General  of  the  Milanese,  and  to  whom,  and 
his  dislike  to  our  King,  I  have  before  alluded. 

Vaudemont  at  once  began  to  plot,  to  overthrow  Cati- 
nat,  in  conjunction  with  Tesse",  who  had  expected  the 
command,  and  who  was  irritated  because  it  had  not  been 
given  to  him.  They  were  in  communication  with  Chamil- 
lart,  Minister  of  War,  who  aided  them,  as  did  other 
friends  at  Court,  to  be  hereafter  named,  in  carrying  out 
their  object.  It  was  all  the  more  easy  because  they  had  to 
do  with  a  man  who  depended  for  support  solely  upon  his 
own  talent,  and  whose  virtue  and  simplicity  raised  him 
above  all  intrigue  and  scheming;  and  who,  with  much 
ability  and  intelligence,  was  severe  in  command,  very 
laconic,  disinterested,  and  of  exceeding  pure  life. 

Prince  Eugene  commanded  the  army  of  the  Emperor 
in  Italy.  The  first  two  generals  under  him,  in  order  of 
rank,  were  allied  with  Vaudemont:  one,  in  fact,  was  his 
only  son;  the  other  was  the  son  of  a  friend  of  his.  The 
least  reflection  ought  to  have  opened  all  eyes  to  the  con- 
duct of  Vaudemont,  and  to  have  discerned  it  to  be  more 
than  suspicious.  Catinat  soon  found  it  out.  He  could 
plan  nothing  against  the  enemy  that  they  did  not  learn 
immediately;  and  he  never  attempted  any  movement 
without  finding  himself  opposed  by  a  force  more  than 
double  his  own;  so  gross  was  this  treachery. 

Catinat  often  complained  of  this:  he  sent  word  of  it  to 
the  Court,  but  without  daring  to  draw  any  conclusion 
from  what  happened.  Nobody  sustained  him  at  Court, 
for  Vaudemont  had  everybody  in  his  favor.  He  captured 
our  general  officers  by  his  politeness,  his  magnificence, 
and,  above  all,  by  presenting  them  with  abundant  sup- 
plies. All  the  useful,  and  the  agreeable,  came  from  his 
side;  all  the  dryness,  all  the  exactitude,  came  from  Cati- 
nat. It  need  not  be  asked  which  of  the  two  had  all 
hearts.  In  fine,  Tesse*  and  Vaudemont  carried  out  their 
schemes  so  well  that  Catinat  could  do  nothing. 

While  these  schemes  were  going  on,  the  Imperialists 
were  enabled  to  gain  time,  to  strengthen  themselves,  to 
cross  the  rivers  without  obstacle,  to  approach  us;  and, 
acquainted  with  everything  as  they  were,  to  attack  a 
portion  of  our  army  on  the  pth  of  July,  at  Capri,  with  five 
14 


210  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

regiments  of  cavalry  and  dragoons.  Prince  Eugene  led 
this  attack  without  his  coming  being  in  the  least  degree 
suspected,  and  fell  suddenly  upon  our  troops.  Tesse", 
who  was  in  the  immediate  neighborhood  with  some  dra- 
goons, advanced  rapidly  upon  hearing  this,  but  only  with 
a  few  dragoons.  A  long  resistance  was  made,  but  at  last 
retreat  became  necessary.  It  was  accomplished  in  ex- 
cellent order,  and  without  disturbance  from  the  enemy; 
but  our  loss  was  very  great,  many  officers  of  rank  being 
among  the  dead. 

Such  was  our  first  exploit  in  Italy;  all  the  fault  of 
which  was  attributed  to  Catinat.  Tesse*  and  Vaudemont 
did  everything  in  their  power  to  secure  his  disgrace. 
The  King,  indeed,  thus  prejudiced  against  Catinat,  deter- 
mined to  take  from  him  the  command,  and  appointed 
the  Mare*chal  de  Villeroy  as  his  successor.  The  surprise 
of  everybody  at  this  was  very  great,  for  no  one  expected 
that  the  Mare*chal  de  Villeroy  would  repair  the  fault  of 
Catinat.  On  the  evening  of  his  appointment,  this  general 
was  exposed  in  a  very  straightforward  and  public  man- 
ner by  M.  de  Duras.  He  did  not  like  the  Mare*chal  de 
Villeroy;  and,  while  everybody  else  was  applauding,  took 
the  Mare*chal  by  the  arm  and  said,  <(  Monsieur  le  Mare*- 
chal,  everybody  is  paying  you  compliments  upon  your 
departure  to  Italy,  I  keep  mine  until  you  return ; w  and 
then,  bursting  out  laughing,  he  looked  round  upon  the 
company.  Villeroy  remained  confounded,  without  offer- 
ing a  word.  Everybody  smiled  and  looked  down.  The 
King  took  no  notice. 

Catinat,  when  the  command  was  taken  out  of  his  hands 
by  the  Mare*chal  de  Villeroy,  made  himself  admired  on 
every  side  by  the  moderation  and  tranquillity  with  which 
he  conducted  himself.  If  Vaudemont  was  satisfied  with 
the  success  of  his  schemes,  it  was  far  otherwise  with 
Tesse",  who  had  merely  intrigued  against  Catinat  for  the 
purpose  of  obtaining  command  of  the  army.  He  did  all 
in  his  power  to  ingratiate  himself  into  the  favor  of  the 
Mar6chal  de  Villeroy:  but  the  Marshal  received  these 
advances  very  coldly.  Tessa's  schemes  against  Catinat 
were  beginning  to  be  scented  out:  he  was  accused  of 
having  wished  the  Imperialists  to  succeed  at  Carpi,  and 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  211 

of  indirectly  aiding  them  by  keeping  back  his  troops; 
his  tirades  against  Catinat,  too,  made  him  suspected. 
The  Mar£chal  de  Villeroy  would  have  nothing  to  do  with 
him.  His  conduct  was  contrasted  with  that  of  Catinat, 
who,  free  after  his  fall  to  retire  from  the  army  continued 
to  remain  there,  with  rare  modesty,  interfering  in 
nothing. 

The  first  campaign  passed  without  notable  incident,  ex- 
cept an  unsuccessful  attack  upon  Chiari,  by  our  troops 
on  the  ist  of  September.  M.  de  Savoie  led  the  attack; 
but  was  so  firmly  met  by  Prince  Eugene,  who  was  in  an 
excellent  position  for  defense,  that  he  could  do  nothing, 
and  in  the  end  was  compelled  to  retire  disgracefully. 
We  lost  five  or  six  colonels  and  many  men,  and  had  a 
large  number  wounded.  This  action  much  astonished  our 
army,  and  encouraged  that  of  the  enemy,  who  did  almost 
as  they  wished  during  the  rest  of  the  campaign. 

Toward  the  end  of  this  campaign,  the  grand  airs  of 
familiarity  which  the  Marechal  de  Villeroy  gave  himself 
with  M.  de  Savoie  drew  upon  him  a  cruel  rebuke,  not  to 
say  an  affront.  M.  de  Savoie  being  in  the  midst  of  all 
the  generals  and  of  the  flower  of  the  army,  opened,  while 
talking,  his  snuffbox,  and  was  about  to  take  a  pinch  of 
snuff,  when  M.  de  Villeroy,  who  was  standing  near, 
stretched  out  his  hand  and  put  it  into  the  box  without 
saying  a  word.  M.  de  Savoie  flushed  up,  and  instantly 
threw  all  the  snuff  upon  the  ground,  gave  the  box  to 
one  of  his  attendants,  and  told  him  to  fill  it  again.  The 
Marechal,  not  knowing  what  to  do  with  himself,  swal- 
lowed his  shame  without  daring  to  say  a  word,  M.  de 
Savoie  continuing  the  conversation  that  he  had  not  in- 
terrupted, except  to  ask  for  the  fresh  snuff. 

The  campaign  passed  away,  our  troops  always  retreat- 
ing, the  Imperialists  always  gaining  ground;  they  con- 
tinually increasing  in  numbers;  we  diminishing  little  by 
little  every  day.  The  Marechal  de  Villeroy  and  Prince 
Eugene  each  took  up  his  winter  quarters  and  crossed  the 
frontier:  M.  de  Savoie  returned  to  Turin,  and  Catinat 
went  to  Paris.  The  King  received  him  well,  but  spoke 
of  nothing  but  unimportant  matters,  and  gave  him  no 
private  audience  nor  did  he  ask  for  one. 


212  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

Prince  Eugene,  who  was  more  knowing  than  the  Marshal 
de  Villeroy,  had  obliged  him  to  winter  in  the  midst  of 
the  Milanese,  and  kept  him  closely  pressed  there,  while 
his  own  troops  enjoyed  perfect  liberty,  by  means  of 
which  they  much  disturbed  ours.  In  this  advantageous 
situation,  Prince  Eugene  conceived  the  design  of  sur- 
prising the  center  of  our  quarters,  and  by  that  blow  to 
make  himself  master  of  our  positions,  and  afterward  of 
Milan,  and  other  places  of  the  country,  all  in  very  bad 
order ;  thus  finishing  effectively  and  suddenly  his  conquest. 

Cremona  was  our  center,  and  it  was  defended  by  a 
strong  garrison.  Prince  Eugene  ascertained  that  there 
was  at  Cremona  an  ancient  aqueduct  which  extended  far 
out  into  the  country,  and  which  started  from  the  town 
in  the  vault  of  a  house  occupied  by  a  priest.  He  also 
learned  that  this  aqueduct  had  been  recently  cleaned, 
but  that  it  carried  very  little  water,  and  that  in  former 
times  the  town  had  been  surprised  by  means  of  it.  He 
caused  the  entrance  of  the  aqueduct,  in  the  country,  to 
be  reconnoitred,  he  gained  over  the  priest  in  whose 
vault  it  ended,  and  who  lived  close  to  one  of  the  gates 
of  the  city,  which  was  walled  up  and  but  little  guarded; 
he  sent  into  Cremona  as  many  chosen  soldiers  as  he 
could,  disguised  as  priests  or  peasants,  and  these  hiding 
themselves  in  the  house  of  the  friendly  priest,  obtained 
secretly  as  many  axes  as  they  could.  Then  the  Prince 
dispatched  five  hundred  picked  men  and  officers  to  march 
by  the  aqueduct  to  the  priest's  vault;  he  put  Thomas  de 
Vaudemont,  son  of  the  Governor- General  of  the  Milanese, 
at  the  head  of  a  large  detachment  of  troops,  with  orders 
to  occupy  a  redoubt  that  defended  the  Po,  and  to  come 
by  the  bridge  to  his  assistance,  when  the  struggle  com- 
menced in  the  town ;  and  he  charged  the  soldiers  secreted 
in  the  priest's  house  to  break  down  the  walled-up  gate, 
so  as  to  admit  the  troops  whom  he  would  lead  there. 

Everything,  thus  concerted  with  exactness  was  executed 
with  precision,  and  with  all  possible  secrecy  and  success. 
It  was  on  the  ist  of  February,  1702,  at  break  of  day,  that 
the  surprise  was  attempted.  The  Mare"chal  de  Villeroy 
had  only  arrived  in  the  town  on  the  previous  night.  The 
first  person  who  got  scent  of  what  was  going  forward  was 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  213 

the  cook  of  the  Lieutenant-General  Crenan,  who  going  out 
in  the  early  morning  to  buy  provisions,  saw  the  streets  full 
of  soldiers  whose  uniforms  were  unknown  to  him.  He 
ran  back  and  awakened  his  master.  Neither  he  nor  his 
valets  would  believe  what  the  cook  said,  but  nevertheless 
Crenan  hurriedly  dressed  himself,  went  out,  and  was  only 
too  soon  convinced  that  it  was  true. 

At  the  same  time,  by  a  piece  of  good  luck,  which  proved 
the  saving  of  Cremona,  a  regiment  under  the  command  of 
D'Entragues,  drew  up  in  battle  array  in  one  of  the  public 
places.  D'Entragues  was  a  bold  and  skillful  soldier,  with 
a  great  desire  to  distinguish  himself.  He  wished  to  re- 
view this  regiment,  and  had  commenced  business  before 
the  dawn.  While  the  light  was  still  uncertain  and  feeble, 
and  his  battalions  were  under  arms,  he  indistinctly  per- 
ceived infantry  troops  forming  at  the  end  of  the  street 
in  front  of  him.  He  knew  by  the  orders  given  on  the 
previous  evening  that  no  other  review  was  to  take  place 
except  his  own.  He  immediately  feared,  therefore,  some 
surprise,  marched  at  once  to  these  troops,  whom  he  found 
to  be  Imperialists,  charged  them,  overthrew  them,  sus- 
tained the  shock  of  the  fresh  troops  which  arrived,  and 
kept  up  a  defense  so  obstinate,  that  he  gave  time  to  all  the 
town  to  awake,  and  to  the  majority  of  the  troops  to  take 
up  arms.  Without  him,  all  would  have  been  slaughtered 
as  they  slept. 

Just  at  dawn  the  Mare"chal  de  Villeroy,  already  up  and 
dressed,  was  writing  in  his  chamber.  He  heard  a  noise, 
called  for  a  horse,  and  followed  by  a  single  aide-de-camp 
and  a  page,  threaded  his  way  through  the  streets  to  the 
grand  place,  which  is  always  the  rendezvous  in  case  of 
alarm.  At  the  turning  of  one  of  the  streets  he  fell  into 
the  midst  of  an  Imperialist  corps  de  garde,  who  surrounded 
him  and  arrested  him.  Feeling  that  it  was  impossible  to 
defend  himself,  the  Mare"chal  de  Villeroy  whispered  his 
name  to  the  officer,  and  promised  him  ten  thousand  pis- 
toles, a  regiment,  and  the  grandest  recompenses  from  the 
King,  to  be  allowed  to  escape.  The  officer  was,  how- 
ever, above  all  bribes,  said  he  had  not  served  the  Em- 
peror so  long  in  order  to  end  by  betraying  him,  and 
conducted  the  Marechal  de  Villeroy  to  Prince  Eugene, 


214  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

who  did  not  receive  him  so  well  as  he  himself  would  have 
been  received,  under  similar  circumstances,  by  the  Mare*- 
chal.  While  in  the  suite  of  Prince  Eugene,  Villeroy  saw 
Crenan  led  in  prisoner,  and  wounded  to  the  death,  and 
exclaimed  that  he  should  like  to  be  in  his  place.  A 
moment  after  they  were  both  sent  out  of  the  town,  and 
passed  the  day,  guarded,  in  the  coach  of  Prince  Eugene. 

Revel,  become  commander-in-chief  by  the  capture  of 
the  Marechal  de  Villeroy,  tried  to  rally  the  troops.  There 
was  a  fight  in  every  street;  the  troops  dispersed  about, 
some  in  detachments,  several  scarcely  armed;  some  only 
in  their  shirts  fought  with  the  greatest  bravery.  They 
were  driven  at  last  to  the  ramparts,  where  they  had 
time  to  look  about  them,  to  rally  and  form  themselves. 
If  the  enemy  had  not  allowed  our  troops  time  to  gain 
the  ramparts,  or  if  they  had  driven  them  beyond  this 
position,  when  they  reached  it,  the  town  could  never 
have  held  out.  But  the  Imperialists  kept  themselves 
entirely  toward  the  centre  of  the  town,  and  made  no 
effort  to  fall  upon  our  men,  or  to  drive  them  from  the 
ramparts. 

Praslin,  who  had  the  command  of  our  cavalry,  put  him- 
self at  the  head  of  some  Irish  battalions  which  under  him 
did  wonders.  Although  continually  occupied  in  defending 
and  attacking,  Praslin  conceived  the  idea  that  the  safety 
of  Cremona  depended  upon  the  destruction  of  the  bridge 
of  the  Po,  so  that  the  Imperialists  could  not  receive  re- 
inforcements from  that  point.  He  repeated  this  so  many 
times,  that  Revel  was  informed  of  it,  and  ordered  Praslin 
to  do  what  he  thought  most  advisable  in  the  matter. 
Thereupon,  Praslin  instantly  commanded  the  bridge  to  be 
broken  down.  There  was  not  a  moment  to  lose.  Thomas 
de  Vaudemont  was  already  approaching  the  bridge  at  the 
head  of  his  troops.  But  the  bridge,  nevertheless,  was 
destroyed  before  his  eyes,  and  with  all  his  musketeers  he 
was  not  able  to  prevent  it. 

It  was  now  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  Prince 
Eugene  was  at  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  swearing  in  the  mag- 
istrates. Leaving  that  place,  and  finding  that  his  troops 
were  giving  way,  he  ascended  the  cathedral  steeple  to  see 
what  was  passing  in  different  parts  of  the  town,  and  to 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  215 

discover  why  the  troops  of  Thomas  de  Vaudemont  did  not 
arrive.  He  had  scarcely  reached  the  top  of  the  steeple, 
when  he  saw  his  detachments  on  the  banks  of  the  Po,  and 
the  bridge  broken,  thus  rendering  their  assistance  useless. 
He  was  not  more  satisfied  with  what  he  discovered  in 
every  other  direction.  Furious  at  seeing  his  enterprise  in 
such  bad  case,  after  having  been  so  nearly  successful,  he 
descended,  tearing  his  hair  and  yelling.  From  that  time, 
although  superior  in  force,  he  thought  of  nothing  but 
retreat. 

Revel,  who  saw  that  his  troops  were  overwhelmed  by 
hunger,  fatigue,  and  wounds,  for  since  the  break  of  day 
they  had  had  no  repose  or  leisure,  thought  on  his  side  of 
withdrawing  his  men  into  the  castle  of  Cremona,  in  order, 
at  least,  to  defend  himself  under  cover,  and  to  obtain  there 
a  capitulation.  So  that  the  two  opposing  chiefs  each 
thought  at  one  and  the  same  time  of  retreat. 

Toward  the  evening,  therefore,  the  combat  slackened  on 
both  sides,  until  our  troops  made  a  last  effort  to  drive 
the  enemy  from  one  of  the  gates  of  the  town;  so  as  to 
have  that  gate  free  and  open  during  the  night  to  let  in 
assistance.  The  Irish  seconded  so  well  this  attack,  that 
it  was  at  length  successful.  A  tolerably  long  calm  suc- 
ceeded this  last  struggle.  Revel,  nevertheless,  thought  of 
withdrawing  his  troops  to  the  castle,  when  Mahony,  an 
Irish  officer  who  had  fought  bravely  as  a  lion  all  day, 
proposed  to  go  and  see  what  was  passing  all  around.  It 
was  already  growing  dark ;  the  reconnoiterers  profited  by 
this.  They  saw  that  everything  was  tranquil,  and  under- 
stood that  the  enemy  had  retreated.  This  grand  news 
was  carried  to  Revel,  who  with  many  around  him,  was  a 
long  time  in  believing  it.  Persuaded  at  last,  he  left 
everything  as  it  was  then,  until  broad  daylight,  when 
he  found  that  the  enemy  had  gone,  and  that  the  streets 
and  public  places  were  filled  with  the  wounded,  the  dying, 
and  the  dead.  He  made  arrangements  for  everything,  and 
dispatched  Mahony  to  the  King. 

Prince  Eugene  retreated  all  that  night  with  the  detach- 
ment he  had  led,  and  made  the  Mardchal  de  Villeroy, 
disarmed  and  badly  mounted,  follow  him,  very  indecently. 
The  Mare"chal  was  afterward  sent  to  Gratz  in  Styria. 


216      MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

Crenan  died  in  the  coach  of  the  Mare*chal  de  Villeroy. 
D'Entragues,  to  whose  valor  the  safety  of  Cremona  was 
owing,  did  not  survive  this  glorious  day.  Our  loss  was 
great ;  that  of  the  enemy  greater. 

The  news  of  this,  the  must  surprising  event  that  has 
been  heard  of  in  recent  ages,  was  brought  to  the  King 
at  Marly  on  the  pth  of  February,  1702,  by  Mahony.  Soon 
after  it  arrived  I  heard  of  it,  and  at  once  hastened  to  the 
chateau,  where  I  found  a  great  buzzing  and  several 
groups  of  people  talking.  Mahony  was  closeted  a  long 
time  with  the  King.  At  the  end  of  an  hour  the  King 
came  out  of  his  cabinet,  and  spoke  strongly  in  praise  of 
what  had  occurred.  He  took  pleasure  in  dwelling  at 
great  length  upon  Mahony,  and  declared  that  he  had 
never  heard  anybody  give  such  a  clear  and  good  account 
of  an  occurrence  as  he.  The  King  kindly  added  that  he 
should  bestow  a  thousand  francs  a  year  upon  Mahony, 
and  a  brevet  of  Colonel. 

In  the  evening  M.  le  Prince  de  Conti  told  me  that 
the  King  had  decorated  Revel,  and  made  Praslin  Lieu- 
tenant-General.  As  the  latter  was  one  of  my  particular 
friends,  this  intelligence  gave  me  much  joy.  I  asked 
again  to  be  more  sure  of  the  news.  The  other  principal 
officers  were  advanced  in  proportion  to  their  grades,  and 
many  received  pensions. 

As  for  the  Mare"chal  de  Villeroy,  he  was  treated  as 
those,  who  excite  envy  and  then  become  unfortunate,  are 
always  treated.  The  King,  however,  openly  took  his 
part;  and  in  truth  it  was  no  fault  of  the  Mare"chal,  who 
had  arrived  at  Cremona  the  day  before  the  surprise,  that 
he  was  taken  prisoner  directly  he  set  his  foot  in  the 
street.  How  could  he  know  of  the  aqueduct,  the  barred- 
up  gate,  and  the  concealed  soldiers  ?  Nevertheless,  his 
friends  were  plunged  into  the  greatest  grief,  and  his 
wife,  who  had  not  been  duped  by  the  tclat  which  ac- 
companied her  husband  upon  his  departure  for  Italy,  but 
who  feared  for  the  result,  was  completely  overwhelmed, 
and  for  a  long  time  could  not  be  prevailed  upon  to  see 
anybody. 

M.  de  Vendome  was  appointed  successor  to  M.  de 
Villeroy,  in  command  of  the  army  in  Italy. 


CHAPTER    XX. 

Discontent  and  Death  of  Barbezieux — His  Character — Elevation  of 
Chamillart — Strange  Reasons  of  His  Success  —  Death  of  Rose  — 
Anecdotes  —  An  Invasion  of  Foxes — M.  le  Prince  —  A  Horse  upon 
ROSES  —  Marriage  of  His  Daughter  —  His  Manners  and  Appear- 
ance. 

BUT  it  is  time  now  for  me  to    go   back   to    other  mat- 
ters, and  to    start    again    from   the    commencement 
of  1701,  from  which  I  have  been  led  by  reciting  in  a 
continuous  story,  the  particulars  of  our  first  campaign  in 
Italy. 

Barbezieux  had  viewed  with  discontent  the  elevation 
of  Chamillart.  His  pride  and  presumption  rose  in  arms 
against  it;  but  as  there  was  no  remedy  he  gave  himself 
up  to  debauch,  to  dissipate  his  annoyance.  He  had  built 
between  Versailles  and  Vaucresson,  at  the  end  of  the 
park  of  St.  Cloud,  a  house  in  the  open  fields,  called 
1'Etang,  which  though  in  the  most  dismal  position  in  the 
world  had  cost  him  millions.  He  went  there  to  feast 
and  riot  with  his  friends ;  and  committing  excesses  above 
his  strength,  was  seized  with  a  fever,  and  died  in  a  few 
days,  looking  death  steadily  in  the  face.  He  was  told  of 
his  approaching  end  by  the  Archbishop  of  Rheims;  for 
he  would  not  believe  Fagon. 

He  was  thirty-three  years  of  age,  with  a  striking  and 
expressive  countenance,  and  much  wit  and  aptitude  for 
labor.  He  was  remarkable  for  grace,  fine  manners, 
and  winning  ways;  but  his  pride  and  ambition  were  ex- 
cessive, and  when  his  fits  of  ill  temper  came  nothing 
could  repress  them.  Resistance  always  excited  and  irri- 
tated him.  He  had  accustomed  the  King — whenever 
he  had  drunk  too  much,  or  when  a  party  of  pleasure 
was  toward  —  to  put  off  work  to  another  time.  It  was  a 
great  question,  whether  the  State  gained  or  lost  most  by 
his  death  ? 

(217) 


2i8  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

As  soon  as  he  was  dead,  Saint-Pouange  went  to  Marly 
to  tell  the  news  to  the  King,  who  was  so  prepared  for 
it  that  two  hours  before,  starting  from  Versailles,  he  had 
left  La  Vrilliere  behind  to  put  the  seals  everywhere. 
Fagon,  who  had  condemned  him  at  once,  had  never  loved 
him  or  his  father,  and  was  accused  of  overbleeding  him 
on  purpose.  At  any  rate  he  allowed,  at  one  of  his  last 
visits,  expressions  of  joy  to  escape  him  because  recovery 
was  impossible.  Barbezieux  used  to  annoy  people  very 
much  by  answering  aloud  when  they  spoke  to  him  in 
whispers,  and  by  keeping  visitors  waiting  while  he  was 
playing  with  his  dogs  or  some  base  parasite. 

Many  people,  especially  divers  beautiful  ladies,  lost 
much  by  his  death.  Some  of  the  latter  looked  very  dis- 
consolate in  the  salon  at  Marly ;  but  when  they  had  gone 
to  table,  and  the  cake  had  been  cut  (it  was  Twelfth  Night), 
the  King  manifested  a  joy  which  seemed  to  command 
imitation.  He  was  not  content  with  exclaiming  (<The 
Queen  drinks,*  but  as  in  a  common  wine-shop,  he  clat- 
tered his  spoon  and  fork  on  his  plate,  and  made  others 
do  so  likewise,  which  caused  a  strange  din,  that  lasted 
at  intervals  all  through  the  supper.  The  snivellers  made 
more  noise  than  the  others,  and  uttered  louder  screams 
of  laughter;  and  the  nearest  relatives  and  best  friends 
were  still  more  riotous.  On  the  morrow  all  signs  of  grief 
had  disappeared. 

Chamillart  was  appointed  in  the  place  of  Barbezieux, 
as  Secretary  of  State ;  and  wanted  to  give  up  the  finances, 
but  the  King,  remembering  the  deputies  of  Louvois  and 
Colbert,  insisted  on  his  occupying  both  posts.  Chamillart 
was  a  very  worthy  man,  with  clean  hands  and  the  best 
intentions,  polite,  patient,  obliging,  a  good  friend,  and  a 
moderate  enemy,  loving  his  country,  but  his  King,  better ; 
and  on  very  good  terms  with  him  and  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon.  His  mind  was  limited,  and  like  all  persons  of 
little  wit  and  knowledge,  he  was  obstinate  and  pig-headed 
—  smiling  affectedly  with  a  gentle  compassion  on  who- 
ever opposed  reasons  to  his,  but  utterly  incapable  of 
understanding  them  —  consequently  a  dupe  of  friendship, 
in  business,  in  everything;  governed  by  all  who  could 
manage  to  win  his  admiration,  or  on  very  slight  grounds 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  219 

could  claim  his  affection.  His  capacity  was  small,  and 
yet  he  believed  he  knew  everything,  which  was  the  more 
pitiable,  as  all  this  came  to  him  with  his  places,  and 
arose  more  from  stupidity  than  presumption  —  not  at  all 
from  vanity,  of  which  he  was  divested.  The  most  remark- 
able thing  is  that  the  chief  origin  of  the  King's  tender 
regard  for  him  was  this  very  incapacity.  He  used  to 
confess  it  to  the  king  at  every  opportunity ;  and  the  King 
took  pleasure  in  directing  and  instructing  him,  so  that 
he  was  interested  in  his  successes  as  if  they  had  been 
his  own,  and  always  excused  him.  The  world  and  the 
Court  excused  him  also,  charmed  by  the  facility  with 
which  he  received  people,  the  pleasure  he  felt  in  grant- 
ing requests  and  rendering  services,  the  gentleness  and 
regretfulness  of  his  refusals,  and  his  indefatigable  patience 
as  a  listener.  His  memory  was  so  great  that  he  remem- 
bered all  matters  submitted  to  him,  which  gave  pleasure 
to  people  who  were  afraid  of  being  forgotten.  He  wrote 
excellently;  and  his  clear,  flowing,  and  precise  style  was 
extremely  pleasing  to  the  King  and  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  who  were  never  weary  of  praising  him,  encourag- 
ing him,  and  congratulating  themselves  for  having  placed 
upon  such  weak  shoulders  two  burdens,  each  of  which 
was  sufficient  to  overwhelm  the  most  sturdy. 

Rose,  secretary  in  the  King's  cabinet,  died,  aged  about 
eighty-six,  at  the  commencement  of  the  year  (1701).  For 
nearly  fifty  years  he  had  held  the  office  of  the  "pen,*  as 
it  is  called.  To  have  the  "pen,"  is  to  be  a  public  forger, 
and  to  do  what  would  cost  anybody  else  his  life.  This 
office  consists  in  imitating  so  exactly  the  handwriting 
of  the  King,  that  the  real  cannot  be  distinguished  from 
the  counterfeit.  In  this  manner  are  written  all  the  letters 
that  the  King  ought  or  wishes  to  write  with  his  owe 
hand,  but  which,  nevertheless,  he  will  not  take  the  trouble 
to  write.  Sovereigns  and  people  of  high  rank,  even  gen- 
erals and  others  of  importance,  employ  a  secretary  of 
this  kind.  It  is  not  possible  to  make  a  great  King  speak 
with  more  dignity  than  did  Rose;  nor  with  more  fitness 
to  each  person,  and  upon  every  subject.  The  King  signed 
all  the  letters  Rose  wrote,  and  the  characters  were  so 
alike  it  was  impossible  to  find  the  smallest  difference. 


220  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

Many  important  things  had  passed  through  the  hands  of 
Rose.  He  was  extremely  faithful  and  secret,  and  the  King 
put  entire  trust  in  him. 

Rose  was  artful,  scheming,  adroit,  and  dangerous. 
There  are  stories  without  number  of  him;  and  I  will 
relate  one  or  two  solely  because  they  characterize  him, 
and  those  to  whom  they  also  relate. 

He  had,  near  Chantilly,  a  nice  house  and  grounds  that 
he  much  liked,  and  that  he  often  visited.  This  little 
property  bordered  the  estate  of  M.  le  Prince,  who,  not 
liking  so  close  a  neighbor,  wished  to  get  rid  of  him. 
M.  le  Prince  endeavored  to  induce  Rose  to  give  up  his 
house  and  grounds,  but  all  to  no  effect ;  and  at  last  tried 
to  annoy  him  in  various  ways  into  acquiescence.  Among 
other  of  his  tricks,  he  put  about  four  hundred  foxes,  old 
and  young,  into  Rose's  park.  It  may  be  imagined  what 
disorder  this  company  made  there,  and  the  surprise  of 
Rose  and  his  servants  at  an  inexhaustible  ant-hill  of  foxes 
come  in  one  night. 

The  worthy  fellow,  who  was  anger  and  vehemence 
itself,  knew  only  too  well  who  had  treated  him  thus 
scurvily,  and  straightway  went  to  the  King,  requesting 
to  be  allowed  to  ask  him  rather  a  rough  question.  The 
King,  quite  accustomed  to  him  and  to  his  jokes,  for  he 
was  pleasant  and  very  witty,  demanded  what  was  the 
matter. 

w  What  is  the  matter,  Sire  ? w  replied  Rose,  with  a  face 
all  flushed.  (<Why,  I  beg  you  will  tell  me  if  we  have 
two  Kings  in  France  ? B 

<(  What  do  you  mean  ? B  said  the  King,  surprised,  and 
flushing  in  his  turn. 

(<What  I  mean,  Sire,  is,  that  if  M.  le  Prince  is  King 
like  you,  folks  must  weep  and  lower  their  heads  before 
that  tyrant.  If  he  is  only  prince  of  the  blood,  I  ask 
justice  from  you,  Sire ;  for  you  owe  it  to  all  your  subjects, 
and  you  ought  not  to  suffer  them  to  be  the  prey  of  M. 
le  Prince,*  said  Rose;  and  he  related  everything  that 
had  taken  place,  concluding  with  the  adventure  of  the 
foxes. 

The  King  promised  that  he  would  speak  to  M.  le 
Prince  in  a  manner  to  insure  the  future  repose  of  Rose ; 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  221 

and,  indeed,  he  ordered  all  the  foxes  to  be  removed 
from  the  worthy  man's  park,  all  the  damages  they  had 
made  to  be  repaired,  and  all  the  expenses  incurred  to  be 
paid  by  M.  le  Prince.  M.  le  Prince  was  too  good  a 
courtier  to  fail  in  obeying  this  order,  and  never  after- 
ward troubled  Rose  in  the  least  thing;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, made  all  the  advances  toward  a  reconciliation. 
Rose  was  obliged  to  receive  them,  but  held  himself 
aloof,  nevertheless,  and  continually  let  slip  some  raillery 
against  M.  le  Prince.  I  and  fifty  others  were  one  day 
witnesses  of  this. 

M.  le  Prince  was  accustomed  to  pay  his  court  to  the 
ministers  as  they  stood  waiting  to  attend  the  Council  in 
the  King's  chamber;  and  although  he  had  nothing  to  say, 
spoke  to  them  with  the  mien  of  a  client  obliged  to  fawn. 
One  morning,  when  there  was  a  large  assembly  of  the 
Court  in  this  chamber,  and  M.  le  Prince  had  been 
cajoling  the  ministers  with  much  suppleness  and  flattery, 
Secretary  Rose,  who  saw  what  had  been  going  on,  went 
up  to  him  on  a  sudden,  and  said  aloud,  putting  one 
finger  under  his  closed  eye,  as  was  sometimes  his  habit, 
<(  Sir,  I  have  seen  your  scheming  here  with  all  these 
gentlemen,  and  for  several  days;  it  is  not  for  nothing. 
I  have  known  the  Court  and  mankind  many  years;  and 
am  not  to  be  imposed  upon :  I  see  clearly  where  matters 
point  w ;  and  this  with  turns  and  inflections  of  voice  which 
thoroughly  embarrassed  M.  le  Prince,  who  defended  him- 
self as  he  could.  Everyone  crowded  to  hear  what  was 
going  on ;  and  at  last  Rose,  taking  M.  le  Prince  respect- 
fully by  his  arm,  said,  with  a  cunning  and  meaning  smile, 
<(  Is  it  not  that  you  wish  to  be  made  first  Prince  of  the 
blood  royal  ? w  Then  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  slipped 
off.  The  Prince  was  stupefied;  and  all  present  tried  in 
vain  to  restrain  their  laughter. 

Rose  had  never  pardoned  M.  de  Duras  an  ill  turn  the 
latter  had  served  him.  During  one  of  the  Court  jour- 
neys, the  carriage  in  which  Rose  was  riding  broke  down. 
He  took  a  horse;  but,  not  being  a  good  equestrian,  was 
very  soon  pitched  into  a  hole  full  of  mud.  While  there 
M.  de  Duras  passed,  and  Rose  from  the  midst  of  the 
mire  cried  for  help.  But  M.  de  Duras,  instead  of  giving 


222        MEMOIRS   OF  THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

assistance,  looked  from  his  coach  window,  burst  out 
laughing,  and  cried  out :  <(  What  a  luxurious  horse  thus 
to  roll  upon  ROSES  ! w  —  and  with  this  witticism  passed 
gently  on  through  the  mud.  The  next  comer,  the  Due 
de  Coislin,  was  more  charitable ;  he  picked  up  the  worthy 
man,  who  was  so  furious,  so  carried  away  by  anger,  that 
it  was  some  time  before  he  could  say  who  he  was.  But 
the  worst  was  to  come;  for  M.  de  Duras,  who  feared 
nobody,  and  whose  tongue  was  accustomed  to  wag  as 
freely  as  that  of  Rose,  told  the  story  to  the  King  and 
to  all  the  Court,  who  much  laughed  at  it.  This  out- 
raged Rose  to  such  a  point,  that  he  never  afterward  ap- 
proached M.  de  Duras,  and  only  spoke  of  him  in  fury. 
Whenever  he  hazarded  some  joke  upon  M.  de  Duras,  the 
King  began  to  laugh,  and  reminded  him  of  the  mud 
ducking  he  had  received. 

Toward  the  end  of  his  life,  Rose  married  his  grand- 
daughter, who  was  to  be  his  heiress,  to  Portail,  since 
Chief  President  of  the  Parliament.  The  marriage  was 
not  a  happy  one ;  the  young  spouse  despised  her  hus- 
band ;  and  said  that  instead  of  entering  into  a  good  house 
she  had  remained  at  the  PORTAL.  At  last  her  husband 
and  his  father  complained  to  Rose.  He  paid  no  attention 
at  first;  but,  tired  out  at  last,  said  if  his  granddaughter 
persisted  in  her  bad  conduct,  he  would  disinherit  her. 
There  were  no  complaints  after  this. 

Rose  was  a  little  man,  neither  fat  nor  lean,  with  a 
tolerably  handsome  face,  keen  expression,  piercing  eyes 
sparkling  with  cleverness;  a  little  cloak,  a  satin  skull 
cap  over  his  gray  hairs,  a  smooth  collar,  almost  like  an 
abba's,  and  his  pocket  handkerchief  always  between  his 
coat  and  his  vest.  He  used  to  say  that  it  was  nearer 
his  nose  there.  He  had  taken  me  into  his  friendship. 
He  laughed  very  freely  at  the  foreign  princes;  and  al- 
ways called  the  dukes  with  whom  he  was  familiar,  <(  Your 
Ducal  Highness,8  in  ridicule  of  the  sham  Highnesses. 
He  was  extremely  neat  and  brisk,  and  full  of  sense  to 
the  last;  he  was  a  sort  of  personage. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

Monseigneur's  Indigestion  —  The  King  Disturbed  —  The  Ladies  of  the 
Halle  —  Quarrel  of  the  King  and  His  Brother — Mutual  Reproaches 

—  Monsieur's  Confessors — A  New  Scene  of  Wrangling  —  Monsieur  at 
Table  —  He  is  Seized  with  Apoplexy  —  The  News  Carried  to  Marly 

—  How  Received  by  the  King  —  Death  of  Monsieur  —  Various  Forms 
of  Grief —  The  Due  de  Chartres. 

ON  SATURDAY,  the  igfh  of  March,  in  the  evening,  the 
King  was  about  to  undress  himself,  when  he  heard 
cries  in  his  chamber,  which  was  full  of  courtiers; 
everybody  calling  for  Fagon  and  Felix.  Monseigneur  had 
been  taken  very  ill.  He  had  passed  the  day  at  Meudon, 
where  he  had  eaten  only  a  collation ;  at  the  King's  supper 
he  had  made  amends  by  gorging  himself  nigh  to  burst- 
ing with  fish.  He  was  a  great  eater,  like  the  King, 
and  like  the  Queens  his  mother  and  grandmother.  He 
had  not  appeared  after  supper,  but  had  just  gone 
down  to  his  own  room  from  the  King's  cabinet,  and  was 
about  to  undress  himself,  when  all  at  once  he  lost  con- 
sciousness. His  valets,  frightened  out  of  their  wits,  and 
some  courtiers  who  were  near,  ran  to  the  King's  cham- 
bers to  his  chief  physician  and  his  chief  surgeon  with  the 
hubub  which  I  have  mentioned  above.  The  King,  all 
unbuttoned,  started  to  his  feet  immediately,  and  de- 
scended by  a  little,  dark,  narrow,  and  steep  staircase 
toward  the  chamber  of  Monseigneur.  Madame  la  Duch- 
ess de  Bourgogne  arrived  at  the  same  time,  and  in  an 
instant  the  chamber,  which  was  vast,  was  filled. 

They  found  Monseigneur  half  naked:  his  servants  en- 
deavoring to  make  him  walk  erect,  and  dragging  rather 
than  leading  him  about.  He  did  not  know  the  King, 
who  spoke  to  him,  nor  anybody  else ;  and  defended  him- 
self as  long  as  he  could  against  Felix,  who,  in  this  press- 
ing necessity,  hazarded  bleeding  him,  and  succeeded. 
Consciousness  returned.  Monseigneur  asked  for  a  con- 

(223) 


224  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

fessor;  the  King  had  already  sent  for  the  cur/.  Many 
emetics  were  given  to  him :  but  two  hours  passed  before  they 
operated.  At  half  past  two  in  the  morning,  no  further 
danger  appearing,  the  King,  who  had  shed  tears,  went  to 
bed,  leaving  orders  that  he  was  to  be  awakened  if  any 
fresh  accident  happened.  At  five  o'clock,  however,  all  the 
effect  having  passed,  the  doctors  went  away,  and  made 
everybody  leave  the  sick  chamber.  During  the  night  all 
Paris  hastened  thither.  Monseigneur  was  compelled  to 
keep  his  room  for  eight  or  ten  days;  and  took  care  in 
future  not  to  gorge  himself  so  much  with  food.  Had  this 
accident  happened  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  the  chief 
valet  de  chambre,  who  slept  in  his  room,  would  have  found 
him  dead  in  his  bed. 

Paris  loved  Monseigneur,  perhaps  because  he  often  went 
to  the  opera.  The  fish-fags  of  the  halles  thought  it 
would  be  proper  to  exhibit  their  affection,  and  deputed 
four  stout  gossips  to  wait  upon  him :  they  were  admitted. 
One  of  them  took  him  round  the  neck  and  kissed  him  on 
both  cheeks ;  the  others  kissed  his  hand.  They  were  all 
very  well  received.  Bontems  showed  them  over  the  apart- 
ments, and  treated  them  to  a  dinner.  Monseigneur  gave 
them  some  money,  and  the  King  did  so  also.  They  de- 
termined not  to  remain  in  debt,  and  had  a  fine  Te  Deum 
sung  at  Saint  Eustachs,  and  then  feasted. 

For  some  time  past  Monsieur  had  been  sorely  grieved 
that  his  son,  M.  la  Due  de  Chartres,  had  not  been  ap- 
pointed to  the  command  of  an  army.  When  M.  de 
Chartres  married,  the  King,  who  had  converted  his 
nephew  by  force  into  a  son-in-law,  promised  him  all 
kinds  of  favors;  but  except  those  which  were  written 
down  in  black  and  white  had  not  given  him  any.  M.  de 
Chartres,  annoyed  at  this,  and  at  the  manner  in  which 
the  illegitimate  children  were  promoted  over  his  head, 
had  given  himself  up  to  all  kinds  of  youthful  follies  and 
excesses.  The  King  was  surprised  to  find  Monsieur 
agree  with  his  son's  ambition;  but  gave  a  flat  refusal 
when  overtures  were  made  to  him  on  the  subject.  All 
hope  of  rising  to  a  high  command  was  thus  forbidden  to 
the  Due  de  Chartres;  so  that  Madame  had  a  fine  excuse 
for  sneering  at  the  weakness  which  had  been  shown  by 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  225 

Monsieur,  who,  on  his  part,  had  long  before  repented  of 
it.  He  winked,  therefore,  at  all  the  escapades  performed 
or  threatened  by  his  son,  and  said  nothing,  not  being 
sorry  that  the  King  should  become  uneasy,  which  was 
soon  the  case. 

The  King  at  last  spoke  to  Monsieur;  and  being  coldly 
received,  reproached  him  for  not  knowing  how  to  exercise 
authority  over  his  son.  Upon  this  Monsieur  fired  up, 
and,  quite  as  much  from  foregone  decision  as  from  anger, 
in  his  turn  asked  the  King  what  was  to  be  done  with  a 
son  at  such  an  age :  who  was  sick  of  treading  the  galleries 
of  Versailles  and  the  pavement  of  the  Court;  of  being 
married  as  he  was,  and  of  remaining,  as  it  were, 
naked,  while  his  brothers-in-law  were  clothed  in  dig- 
nities, governments,  establishments,  and  offices, — against 
all  policy  and  all  example.  His  son,  he  said,  was  worse 
off  than  any  one  in  the  King's  service,  for  all  others 
could  earn  distinction ;  added,  that  idleness  was  the  mother 
of  all  vice,  and  that  it  gave  him  much  pain  to  see  his 
only  son  abandon  himself  to  debauchery  and  bad  company ; 
but  that  it  would  be  cruel  to  blame  a  young  man,  forced 
as  it  were  into  these  follies,  and  to  say  nothing  against 
him  by  whom  he  was  thus  forced. 

Who  was  astonished  to  hear  this  straightforward  lan- 
guage ?  Why,  the  King.  Monsieur  had  never  let  out  to 
within  a  thousand  leagues  of  this  tone,  which  was  only 
the  more  annoying  because  supported  by  unanswerable 
reasons  that  did  not  convince.  Mastering  his  embarrass- 
ment, however,  the  King  answered  as  a  brother  rather 
than  as  a  sovereign;  endeavoring,  by  gentle  words,  to 
calm  the  excitement  of  Monsieur.  But  Monsieur  was 
stung  to  the  quick  by  the  King's  neglect  of  M.  de  Char- 
tres,  and  would  not  be  pacified;  yet  the  real  subject  of 
the  annoyance  was  never  once  alluded  to,  while  the  one 
kept  it  steadily  in  his  mind,  and  the  other  was  deter- 
mined not  to  yield.  The  conversation  lasted  very  long, 
and  was  pushed  very  far;  Monsieur  throughout  taking 
the  high  tone,  the  King  very  gentle.  They  separated  in 
this  manner, —  Monsieur  frowning,  but  not  daring  to 
burst  out ;  the  King  annoyed,  but  not  wishing  to  estrange 
his  brother,  much  less  to  let  their  squabble  be  known. 
15 


226  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

As  Monsieur  passed  most  of  his  summers  at  St.  Cloud, 
the  separation  which  this  occasioned  put  them  at  their 
ease  while  waiting  for  a  reconciliation;  and  Monsieur 
came  less  often  than  before,  but  when  he  did  filled  all 
their  private  interviews  with  bitter  talk.  In  public  little 
or  nothing  appeared,  except  that  familiar  people  re- 
marked politeness  and  attention  on  the  King's  part,  cold- 
ness on  that  of  Monsieur  —  moods  not  common  to  either. 
Nevertheless,  being  advised  not  to  push  matters  too  far, 
he  read  a  lecture  to  his  son,  and  made  him  change  his 
conduct  by  degrees.  But  Monsieur  still  remained  irri- 
tated against  the  King;  and  this  completely  upset  him, 
accustomed  as  he  always  had  been  to  live  on  the  best 
of  terms  with  his  brother,  and  to  be  treated  by  him  in 
every  respect  as  such  —  except  that  the  King  would  not 
allow  Monsieur  to  become  a  great  personage. 

Ordinarily,  whenever  Monsieur  or  Madame  were 
unwell,  even  if  their  little  finger  ached,  the  King  visited 
them  at  once;  and  continued  his  visits  if  the  sickness 
lasted.  But  now,  Madame  had  been  laid  up  for  six 
weeks  with  a  tertian  fever,  for  which  she  would  do 
nothing,  because  she  treated  herself  in  her  German  fash- 
ion, and  despised  physic  and  doctors.  The  King,  who, 
besides  the  affair  of  M.  le  Due  de  Chartres,  was  secretly 
angered  with  her,  as  will  presently  be  seen,  had  not 
been  to  see  her,  although  Monsieur  had  urged  him  to  do 
so  during  those  flying  visits  which  he  made  to  Versailles 
without  sleeping  there.  This  was  taken  by  Mon- 
sieur, who  was  ignorant  of  the  private  cause  of  indigna- 
tion alluded  to,  for  a  public  mark  of  extreme  disrespect; 
and  being  proud  and  sensitive,  he  was  piqued  thereby  to 
the  last  degree. 

He  had  other  mental  troubles  to  torment  him.  For 
some  time  past  he  had  had  a  Confessor,  who  although  a 
Jesuit,  kept  as  tight  a  hand  over  him  as  he  could.  He 
was  a  gentleman  of  good  birth,  and  of  Brittany,  by 
name  le  Pere  du  TreVoux.  He  forbade  Monsieur,  not 
only  certain  strange  pleasures,  but  many  which  he 
thought  he  could  innocently  indulge  in,  as  a  penance  for 
his  past  life.  He  often  told  him  that  he  had  no  mind 
to  be  damned  on  his  account,  and  that  if  he  was  thought 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  227 

too  harsh  let  another  Confessor  be  appointed.  He  also 
told  him  to  take  great  care  of  himself,  as  he  was  old, 
worn  out  with  debauchery,  fat,  short  necked,  and,  accord- 
ing to  all  appearance,  likely  to  die  soon  of  apoplexy. 
These  were  terrible  words  to  a  prince,  the  most  voluptu- 
ous and  the  most  attached  to  life  that  had  been  seen  for 
a  long  time;  who  had  always  passed  his  days  in  the 
most  luxurious  idleness,  and  who  was  the  most  incapable 
by  nature  of  all  serious  application,  of  all  serious  read- 
ing, and  of  all  self-examination.  He  was  afraid  of  the 
devil ;  and  he  remembered  that  his  former  Confessor  had 
resigned  for  similar  reasons  as  this  new  one  was  actu- 
ated by.  He  was  forced  now,  therefore,  to  look  a  little 
into  himself,  and  to  live  in  a  manner,  that  for  him, 
might  be  considered  rigid.  From  time  to  time  he  said 
many  prayers;  he  obeyed  his  Confessor,  and  rendered 
an  account  to  him  of  the  conduct  he  had  prescribed  in 
respect  to  play  and  many  other  things,  and  patiently 
suffered  his  Confessor's  long  discourses.  He  became  sad, 
dejected,  and  spoke  less  than  usual  —  that  is  to  say,  only 
about  as  much  as  three  or  four  women  —  so  that  every- 
body soon  saw  this  great  change.  It  would  have  been 
strange  if  all  these  troubles  together  had  not  made  a 
great  revolution  in  a  man  like  Monsieur,  full  bodied, 
and  a  great  eater,  not  only  at  meals,  but  all  the  day. 

On  Thursday,  the  8th  of  June,  he  went  from  St.  Cloud 
to  dine  with  the  King  at  Marly;  and,  as  was  his  custom, 
entered  the  Cabinet,  as  soon  as  the  Council  of  State  went 
out.  He  found  the  King  angry  with  M.  de  Chartres  for 
neglecting  his  wife,  and  allowing  her  to  seek  consolation 
for  this  neglect  in  the  society  of  others.  M.  de  Chartres 
was  at  that  time  enamored  of  Mademoiselle  de  Sery, 
maid  of  honor  to  Madame,  and  carried  on  his  suit  in  the 
most  open  and  flagrant  manner.  The  King  took  this 
for  his  theme,  and  very  stiffly  reproached  Monsieur  for 
the  conduct  of  his  son.  Monsieur,  who  needed  little  to 
exasperate  him,  tartly  replied,  that  fathers  who  had 
led  certain  lives  had  little  authority  over  their  children, 
and  little  right  to  blame  them.  The  King,  who  felt  the 
point  of  the  answer,  fell  back  on  the  patience  of  his 
daughter,  and  said  that  at  least  she  ought  not  to  be 


228  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

allowed  to  see  the  truth  so  clearly.  But  Monsieur  was 
resolved  to  have  his  fling,  and  recalled,  in  the  most  ag- 
gravating manner,  the  conduct  the  King  had  adopted 
toward  his  queen,  with  respect  to  his  mistresses,  even 
allowing  the  latter  to  accompany  him  in  his  journeys  — 
the  queen  at  his  side,  and  all  in  the  same  coach.  This 
last  remark  drove  the  King  beyond  all  patience,  and  he 
redoubled  his  reproaches,  so  that  presently  both  were 
shouting  to  one  another  at  the  top  of  their  voices.  The 
door  of  the  room  in  which  they  wrangled  was  open,  and 
only  covered  by  a  curtain,  as  was  the  custom  at  Marly, 
and  the  adjoining  room  was  full  of  courtiers,  waiting  to 
see  the  King  go  by  to  dinner.  On  the  other  side  was  a 
little  salon,  devoted  to  very  private  purposes,  and  filled 
with  valets,  who  could  hear  distinctly  every  word  of 
what  passed.  The  attendant  without,  upon  hearing  this 
noise,  entered,  and  told  the  King  how  many  people  were 
within  hearing,  and  immediately  retired.  The  conver- 
sation did  not  stop,  however;  it  was  simply  carried  on 
in  a  lower  tone.  Monsieur  continued  his  reproaches; 
said  that  the  King,  in  marrying  his  daughter  to  M.  de 
Chartres,  had  promised  marvels,  and  had  done  nothing; 
that  for  his  part  he  had  wished  his  son  to  serve,  to  keep 
him  out  of  the  way  of  these  intrigues,  but  that  his 
demands  had  been  vain;  that  it  was  no  wonder  M.  de 
Chartres  amused  himself,  by  way  of  consolation,  for  the 
neglect  he  had  been  treated  with.  Monsieur  added,  that 
he  saw  only  too  plainly  the  truth  of  what  had  been  pre- 
dicted, namely,  that  he  would  have  all  the  shame  and 
dishonor  of  the  marriage  without  ever  deriving  any  profit 
from  it.  The  King,  more  and  more  carried  away  by 
anger,  replied,  that  the  war  would  soon  oblige  him  to 
make  some  retrenchments,  and  that  he  would  commence 
by  cutting  down  the  pensions  of  Monsieur,  since  he 
showed  himself  so  little  accommodating. 

At  this  moment  the  King  was  informed  that  his  dinner 
was  ready,  and  both  he  and  Monsieur  left  the  room  and 
went  to  table, —  Monsieur,  all  fury,  flushed,  and  with  eyes 
inflamed  by  anger.  His  face  thus  crimsoned  induced 
some  ladies  who  were  at  table,  and  some  courtiers  be- 
hind— but  more  for  the  purpose  of  saying  something 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  229 

than  anything  else  —  to  make  the  remark,  that  Monsieur, 
by  his  appearance,  had  great  need  of  bleeding.  The 
same  thing  had  been  said  some  time  before  at  St.  Cloud ; 
he  was  absolutely  too  full;  and,  indeed,  he  had  himself 
admitted  that  it  was  true.  Even  the  King  in  spite  of 
their  squabbles,  had  more  than  once  pressed  him  to  con- 
sent. But  Tancrede,  his  head  surgeon,  was  old,  and  an 
unskillful  bleeder:  he  had  missed  fire  once.  Monsieur 
would  not  be  bled  by  him;  and  not  to  vex  him,  was 
good  enough  to  refuse  being  bled  by  another,  and  to  die 
in  consequence. 

Upon  hearing  this  observation  about  bleeding,  the  King 
spoke  to  him  again  on  the  subject;  and  said  he  did  not 
know  what  prevented  him  from  having  him  at  once  taken 
to  his  room,  and  bled  by  force.  The  dinner  passed  in 
the  ordinary  manner ;  and  Monsieur  ate  extremely,  as  he 
did  at  all  his  meals,  to  say  nothing  of  an  abundant  sup- 
ply of  chocolate  in  the  morning,  and  what  he  swallowed 
all  day  in  the  shape  of  fruit,  pastry,  preserves,  and  every 
kind  of  dainty,  with  which  indeed  the  tables  of  his 
cabinets  and  his  pockets  were  always  filled. 

Upon  rising  from  the  table,  the  King,  in  his  carriage, 
alone,  went  to  Saint  Germain,  to  visit  the  King  and  Queen 
of  England.  Other  members  of  the  family  went  there  like- 
wise separately;  and  Monsieur,  after  going  there  also, 
returned  to  Saint  Cloud. 

In  the  evening,  after  supper,  the  King  was  in  his  cabinet, 
with  Monseigneur  and  the  princesses,  as  at  Versailles, 
when  a  messenger  came  from  Saint  Cloud,  and  asked  to  see 
the  King  in  the  name  of  the  Due  de  Chartres.  He  was  ad- 
mitted into  the  cabinet,  and  said  that  Monsieur  had  been 
taken  very  ill  while  at  supper ;  that  he  had  been  bled,  that 
he  was  better,  but  that  an  emetic  had  been  given  to  him. 
The  fact  was,  Monsieur  had  supped  as  usual  with  the  ladies, 
who  were  at  Saint  Cloud.  During  the  meal,  as  he  poured 
out  a  glass  of  liquor  for  Madame  de  Bouillon,  it  was  per- 
ceived that  he  stammered,  and  pointed  at  something  with 
his  hand.  As  it  was  customary  with  him  sometimes  to 
speak  Spanish,  some  of  the  ladies  asked  what  he  said, 
others  cried  aloud.  All  this  was  the  work  of  an  instant, 
and  immediately  afterward  Monsieur  fell  in  a  fit  of 


230  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

apoplexy  upon  M.  de  Chartres,  who  supported  him.  He 
was  taken  into  his  room,  shaken,  moved  about,  bled  con- 
siderably, and  had  strong  emetics  administered  to  him,  but 
scarcely  any  signs  of  life  did  he  show. 

Upon  hearing  this  news,  the  King,  who  had  been  ac- 
customed to  fly  to  visit  Monsieur  for  a  mere  nothing,  went 
to  Madame  de  Maintenon's,  and  had  her  waked  up.  He 
passed  a  quarter  of  an  hour  with  her,  and  then, .  toward 
midnight,  returning  to  his  room,  ordered  his  coach  to  be 
got  ready,  and  sent  the  Marquis  de  Gesvres  to  Saint  Cloud, 
to  see  if  Monsieur  was  worse,  in  which  case  he  was  to 
return  and  wake  him;  and  they  went  quietly  to  bed. 
Besides  the  particular  relations  in  which  they  were  at  that 
time,  I  think  that  the  King  suspected  some  artifice;  that 
he  went  in  consequence  to  consult  Madame  de  Maintenon, 
and  preferred  sinning  against  all  laws  of  propriety  to  run- 
ning the  chance  of  being  duped.  Madame  de  Maintenon 
did  not  like  Monsieur.  She  feared  him.  He  paid  her 
very  little  court,  and  despite  all  his  timidity  and  his  more 
than  deference,  observations  escaped  him  at  times,  when 
he  was  with  the  King,  which  marked  his  disdain  of  her, 
and  the  shame  that  he  felt  of  public  opinion.  She  was 
not  eager,  therefore,  to  advise  the  King  to  go  and  visit 
him,  still  less  to  commence  a  journey  by  night, — the  loss 
of  rest,  and  the  witnessing  a  spectacle  so  sad,  and  so  likely 
to  touch  him,  and  make  him  make  reflections  on  himself ; 
for  she  hoped  that  if  things  went  quietly  he  might  be 
spared  the  trouble  altogether. 

A  moment  after  the  King  had  got  into  bed,  a  page 
came  to  say  that  Monsieur  was  better,  and  that  he  had 
just  asked  for  some  Schaffhausen  water,  which  is  excel- 
lent for  apoplexy.  An  hour  and  a  half  later,  another 
messenger  came,  awakened  the  King,  and  told  him  that 
the  emetic  had  no  effect,  and  that  Monsieur  was  very 
ill.  At  this  the  King  rose  and  set  out  at  once.  On 
the  way  he  met  the  Marquis  de  Gesvres,  who  was  com- 
ing to  fetch  him,  and  brought  similar  news.  It  may  be 
imagined  what  a  hubbub  and  disorder  there  was  this 
night  at  Marly,  and  what  horror  at  Saint  Cloud,  that 
palace  of  delight!  Everybody  who  was  at  Marly  hastened 
as  he  was  best  able  to  Saint  Cloud.  Whoever  was  first 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  231 

ready  started  together.  Men  and  women  jostled  each 
other,  and  then  threw  themselves  into  the  coaches  with- 
out order  and  without  regard  to  etiquette.  Monseigneur 
was  with  Madame  la  Duchess.  He  was  so  struck  by 
what  had  occurred,  and  its  resemblance  to  what  he  him- 
self had  experienced,  that  he  could  scarcely  stand,  and 
was  dragged,  almost  carried,  to  the  carriage,  all  trembling. 

The  King  arrived  at  Saint  Cloud  before  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  Monsieur  had  not  had  a  moment's  con- 
sciousness since  his  attack.  A  ray  of  intelligence  came 
to  him  for  an  instant,  while  his  confessor,  Pere  du  Tre"- 
voux,  went  to  say  mass,  but  it  returned  no  more.  The 
most  horrible  sights  have  often  ridiculous  contrasts. 
When  the  said  confessor  came  back,  he  cried,  <(  Mon- 
sieur, do  you  not  know  your  Confessor  ?  Do  you  not 
know  the  good  little  Pere  du  TreVoux,  who  is  speaking 
to  you  ? w  and  thus  caused  the  less  afflicted  to  laugh 
indecently. 

The  King  appeared  much  moved;  naturally  he  wept 
with  great  facility;  he  was,  therefore,  all  tears.  He  had 
never  had  cause  not  to  love  his  brother  tenderly ;  although 
on  bad  terms  with  him  for  the  last  two  months,  these 
sad  moments  recalled  all  his  tenderness ;  perhaps,  too,  he 
reproached  himself  for  having  hastened  death  by  the 
scene  of  the  morning.  And  finally,  Monsieur  was  younger 
than  he  by  two  years,  and  all  his  life  had  enjoyed  as 
good  health  as  he,  and  better!  The  King  heard  mass 
at  Saint  Cloud;  and,  toward  eight  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, Monsieur  being  past  all  hope,  Madame  de  Maintenon 
and  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  persuaded  the 
King  to  stay  no  longer,  and  accordingly  returned  with 
him  in  his  carriage  to  Marly.  As  he  was  going  out  and 
was  showing  some  sign  of  affection  to  M.  de  Chartres  — 
both  weeping  very  much  —  that  young  prince  did  not 
fail  to  take  advantage  of  the  opportunity.  (<  Oh  Sire !  w  he 
exclaimed,  embracing  the  King's  thighs,  ((  what  will  be- 
come of  me  ?  I  lose  Monsieur,  and  I  know  that  you  do 
not  like  me."  The  King,  surprised  and  much  touched, 
embraced  him,  and  said  all  the  tender  things  he  could. 

On  arriving  at  Marly,  the  King  went  with  the  Duchess 
de  Bourgogne  to  Madame  de  Maintenon.  Three  hours 


232  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

after  came  M.  Fagon,  who  had  been  ordered  not  to  leave 
Monsieur  until  he  was  dead  or  better  —  which  could  not 
be  but  by  miracle.  The  King  said,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
him:  «Well!  M.  Fagon,  my  brother  is  dead?"  «Yes, 
Sire,*  said  Fagon,  (<no  remedy  has  taken  effect." 

The  King  wept  a  good  deal.  He  was  pressed  to  dine 
with  Madame  de  Maintenon;  but  he  would  not  do  so, 
and  had  his  dinner,  as  usual,  with  the  ladies.  The  tears 
often  ran  down  his  cheek,  during  the  meal,  which  was 
short.  After  this,  he  shut  himself  up  in  Madame  de 
Maintenon's  rooms  until  seven  o'clock,  and  then  took  a 
turn  in  his  garden.  Afterward  he  worked  with  Chamil- 
lart  and  Pontchartrain ;  and  arranged  all  the  funeral  cere- 
monies of  Monsieur.  He  supped  an  hour  before  his 
customary  time,  and  went  to  bed  soon  afterward. 

At  the  departure  from  St.  Cloud  of  the  King,  all  the 
crowd  assembled  there  little  by  little  withdrew,  so  that 
Monsieur  dying,  stretched  upon  a  couch  in  his  cabinet, 
remained  exposed  to  the  scullions  and  the  lower  officers 
of  the  household,  the  majority  of  whom,  either  by  affec- 
tion or  interest,  were  much  afflicted.  The  chief  officers 
and  others  who  lost  posts  and  pensions  filled  the  air  with 
their  cries ;  while  all  the  women  who  were  at  Saint  Cloud, 
and  who  lost  their  consideration  and  their  amusement, 
ran  here  and  there,  crying,  with  disheveled  hair,  like 
Bacchantes.  The  Duchess  de  la  Ferte",  who  had  basely 
married  her  daughter  to  one  of  Monsieur's  minions,  named 
La  Carte,  came  into  the  cabinet;  and,  while  gazing  on 
the  Prince,  who  still  palpitated  there,  exclaimed,  giving 
vent  to  her  profound  reflections,  w  Pardi !  Here  is  a 
daughter  well  married !  * 

*A  very  important  matter!"  cried  Chatillon,  who  him- 
self lost  everything  by  this  death.  w  Is  this  a  moment  to 
consider  whether  your  daughter  is  well  married  or  not?" 

Madame,  who  had  never  had  great  affection  or  great 
esteem  for  Monsieur,  but  who  felt  her  loss  and  her  fall, 
meanwhile  remained  in  her  cabinet,  and  in  the  midst  of 
her  grief  cried  out,  with  all  her  might,  (<  No  convent ! 
Let  no  one  talk  of  a  convent  !  I  will  have  nothing  to  do 
with  a  convent !  *  The  good  Princess  had  not  lost  her 
judgment.  She  knew  that,  by  her  compact  of  marriage, 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  233 

she  had  to  choose,  on  becoming  a  widow,  between  a  con- 
vent and  the  chateau  of  Montargis.  She  liked  neither  al- 
ternative; but  she  had  greater  fear  of  the  convent  than 
of  Montargis;  and  perhaps  thought  it  would  be  easier  to 
escape  from  the  latter  than  the  former.  She  knew  she 
had  much  to  fear  from  the  King,  although  she  did  not 
yet  know  all,  and  although  he  had  been  properly  polite 
to  her,  considering  the  occasion. 

Next  morning,  Friday,  M.  de  Chartres  came  to  the 
King,  who  was  still  in  bed,  and  who  spoke  to  him  in  a 
very  friendly  manner.  He  said  that  the  Duke  must  for 
the  future  regard  him  as  his  father;  that  he  would  take 
care  of  his  position  and  his  interests ;  that  he  had  forgot- 
ten all  the  little  causes  of  anger  he  had  had  against  him; 
that  he  hoped  the  Duke  would  also  forget  them ;  that  he 
begged  that  the  advances  of  friendship  he  made  him 
might  serve  to  attach  him  to  him,  and  make  their  two 
hearts  belong  to  one  another  again.  It  may  easily  be 
conceived  how  well  M.  de  Chartres  answered  all  this. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

The  Dead  soon  Forgotten  —  Feelings  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  —  And 
of  the  Due  de  Chartres  —  Of  the  Courtiers  —  Madame's  Mode  of 
Life  —  Character  of  Monsieur  —  Anecdote  of  M.  le  Prince  —  Strange 
Interview  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  with  Madame  —  Mourning  at 
Court  —  Death  of  Henriette  d'Angleterre  —  A  Poisoning  Scene  — 
The  King  and  the  Accomplice. 

AFTER  such  a  frightful  spectacle  as  had  been  witnessed, 
so  many  tears  and  so  much  tenderness,  nobody 
doubted  that  the  three  days  which  remained  of  the 
stay  at  Marly  would  be  exceedingly  sad.  But,  on  the 
very  morrow  of  the  day  on  which  Monsieur  died,  some 
ladies  of  the  palace,  upon  entering  the  apartments  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  where  was  the  King  with  the 
Duchess  de  Bourgogne,  about  twelve  o'clock,  heard  her 
from  the  chamber  where  they  were,  next  to  hers,  singing 
opera  tunes.  A  little  while  after,  the  King,  seeing  the 
Duchess  de  Bourgogne  very  sad  in  a  corner  of  the  room, 
asked  Madame  de  Maintenon,  with  surprise,  why  the  said 
Duchess  was  so  melancholy ;  set  himself  to  work  to  rouse 
her;  then  played  with  her  and  some  ladies  of  the  palace  he 
had  called  in  to  join  in  the  sport.  This  was  not  all.  Be- 
fore rising  from  the  dinner  table,  at  a  little  after  two 
o'clock,  and  twenty-six  hours  after  the  death  of  Monsieur, 
Monseigneur  the  Due  de  Bourgogne  asked  the  Due  de 
Montfort  if  he  would  play  at  brelan. 

(<At  brelan!*  cried  Montfort,  in  extreme  astonishment; 
<(you  cannot  mean  it!  Monsieur  is  still  warm.* 

<(  Pardon  me,*  replied  the  Prince,  <(  I  do  mean  it 
though.  The  King  does  not  wish  that  we  should  be  dull 
here  at  Marly,  and  has  ordered  me  to  make  everybody 
play;  and,  for  fear  that  nobody  should  dare  to  begin,  to 
set,  myself,  the  example ; w  and  with  this  he  began  to 
play  at  brelan;  and  the  salon  was  soon  filled  with  gaming 
tables. 

Such  was  the  affection  of  the  King:  such  that  of  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenon  1  SHE  felt  the  loss  of  Monsieur  as 
(234) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON      235 

a  deliverance,  and  could  scarcely  restrain  her  joy ;  and  it 
was  with  the  greatest  difficulty  she  succeeded  in  putting 
on  a  mournful  countenance.  She  saw  that  the  King  was 
already  consoled;  nothing  could  therefore  be  more  be- 
coming than  for  her  to  divert  him,  and  nothing  suited 
her  better  than  to  bring  things  back  into  their  usual 
course,  so  that  there  might  be  no  more  talk  of  Monsieur 
nor  of  affliction.  For  propriety  of  appearance  she  cared 
nothing.  The  thing  could  not  fail,  however,  to  be  scan- 
dalous; and  in  whispers  was  found  so.  Monsiegneur, 
though  he  had  appeared  to  like  Monsieur,  who  had  given 
him  all  sorts  of  balls  and  amusements,  and  shown  him 
every  kind  of  attention  and  complaisance,  went  out  wolf 
hunting  the  very  day  after  his  death;  and,  upon  his  re- 
turn, finding  play  going  on  in  the  salons,  went  without 
hesitation  and  played  himself  like  the  rest.  Monseigneur 
le  Due  de  Bourgogne  and  M.  le  Due  de  Berry  only  saw 
Monsieur  on  public  occasions,  and  therefore  could  not  be 
much  moved  by  his  loss.  But  Madame  la  Duchess  was 
extremely  touched  by  this  event.  He  was  her  grand- 
father; and  she  tenderly  loved  her  mother,  who  loved 
Monsieur;  and  Monsieur  had  always  been  very  kind  to 
her,  and  provided  all  kinds  of  diversion  for  her.  Al- 
though not  very  loving  to  anybody,  she  loved  Monsieur; 
and  was  much  affected  not  to  dare  to  show  her  grief 
which  she  indulged  a  long  time  in  private.  What  the 
grief  of  Madame  was  has  already  been  seen. 

As  for  M.  de  Chartres,  he  was  much  affected  by  his 
loss.  The  father  and  son  loved  each  other  extremely. 
Monsieur  was  a  gentle  and  indulgent  parent,  who  had 
never  constrained  his  son.  But  if  the  Duke's  heart  was 
touched,  his  reason  also  was.  Besides  the  great  assist- 
ance it  was  to  him  to  have  a  father,  brother  of  the  King, 
that  father  was,  as  it  were,  a  barrier  between  him  and 
the  King,  under  whose  hand  he  now  found  himself  di- 
rectly placed.  His  greatness,  his  consideration,  the  com- 
fort of  his  house  and  his  life,  would,  therefore,  depend 
on  him  alone.  Assiduity,  propriety  of  conduct,  a  cer- 
tain manner,  and  above  all,  a  very  different  deportment 
toward  his  wife,  would  now  become  the  price  of  every- 
thing he  could  expect  to  obtain  from  the  King.  Madame 


236  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

la  Duchess  de  Chartres,  although  well  treated  by  Mon- 
sieur, was  glad  to  be  delivered  from  him;  for  he  was  a 
barrier  between  her  and  the  King,  that  left  her  at  the 
mercy  of  her  husband.  She  was  charmed  to  be  quit  of 
the  duty  of  following  Monsieur  to  Paris  or  St.  Cloud, 
where  she  found  herself,  as  it  were,  in  a  foreign  coun- 
try, with  faces  which  she  never  saw  anywhere  else,  which 
did  not  make  her  welcome;  and  where  she  was  exposed 
to  the  contempt  and  humor  of  Madame,  who  little  spared 
her.  She  expected  for  the  future  never  to  leave  the 
Court,  and  to  be,  not  only  exempt  from  paying  her  court 
to  Monsieur,  but  that  Madame  and  her  husband  would 
for  the  future  be  obliged  to  treat  her  in  quite  another 
manner. 

The  bulk  of  the  Court  regretted  Monsieur,  for  it  was 
he  who  set  all  pleasure  a  going;  and  when  he  left  it,  life 
and  merriment  seemed  to  have  disappeared  likewise. 
Setting  aside  his  obstinacy  with  regard  to  the  Princes, 
he  loved  the  order  of  rank,  preferences,  and  distinctions : 
he  caused  them  to  be  observed  as  much  as  possible,  and 
himself  set  the  example.  He  loved  great  people;  and 
was  so  affable  and  polite,  that  crowds  came  to  him.  The 
difference  which  he  knew  how  to  make,  and  which  he 
never  failed  to  make,  between  every  one  according  to  his 
position,  contributed  greatly  to  his  popularity.  In  his  re- 
ceptions, by  his  greater  or  less,  or  more  neglectful 
attention,  and  by  his  words,  he  always  marked  in  a  flat- 
tering manner  the  differences  made  by  birth  and  dignity, 
by  age  and  merit,  and  by  profession ;  and  all  this  with  a 
dignity  natural  to  him,  and  a  constant  facility  which  he 
had  acquired.  His  familiarity  obliged,  and  yet  no  rash 
people  ever  ventured  to  take  advantage  of  it.  He  vis- 
ited or  sent  exactly  when  it  was  proper;  and  under  his 
roof  he  allowed  a  complete  liberty,  without  injury  to  the 
respect  shown  him,  or  to  a  perfect  court  air.  He  had 
learned  from  the  Queen,  his  mother,  and  well  remem- 
bered this  art.  The  crowd,  therefore,  constantly  flocked 
toward  the  Palais  Royal. 

At  Saint  Cloud,  where  all  his  numerous  household  used 
to  assemble,  there  were  many  ladies  who,  to  speak  the 
truth,  would  scarcely  have  been  received  elsewhere,  but 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  237 

many  also  of  a  higher  set,  and  great  store  of  gamblers. 
The  pleasures  of  all  kinds  of  games,  .and  the  singular 
beauty  of  the  place,  where  a  thousand  caUches  were  al- 
ways ready  to  whirl  even  the  most  lazy  ladies  through 
the  walks,  soft  music  and  good  cheer,  made  it  a  palace 
of  delight,  grace,  and  magnificence. 

All  this  without  any  assistance  from  Madame,  who 
dined  and  supped  with  the  ladies  and  Monsieur,  rode  out 
sometimes  in  a  caleche  with  one  of  them,  often  sulked 
with  the  company,  made  herself  feared  for  her  harsh  and 
surly  temper  —  frequently  even  for  her  words ;  and  passed 
her  days  in  a  little  cabinet  she  had  chosen,  where  the 
windows  were  ten  feet  from  the  ground,  gazing  perpetu- 
ally on  the  portraits  of  Paladins  and  other  German 
princes,  with  which  she  had  tapestried  the  walls;  and 
writing  every  day  with  her  own  hand  whole  volumes  of 
letters,  of  which  she  always  kept  autograph  copies.  Mon- 
sieur had  never  been  able  to  bend  her  to  a  more  human 
way  of  life,  and  lived  decently  with  her,  without  caring 
for  her  person  in  any  way. 

For  his  part,  Monsieur,  who  had  very  gallantly  won 
the  battle  of  Cassel,  and  who  had  always  shown  courage 
in  the  sieges  where  he  had  served,  had  only  the  bad 
qualities  that  distinguish  women.  With  more  knowledge 
of  the  world  than  wit,  with  no  reading,  though  he  had  a 
vast  and  exact  acquaintance  with  noble  houses,  their 
births  and  marriages,  he  was  good  for  nothing.  Nobody 
was  so  flabby  in  body  and  mind,  no  one  so  weak,  so  timid, 
so  open  to  deception,  so  led  by  the  nose,  so  despised  by 
his  favorites,  often  so  roughly  treated  by  them.  He  was 
quarrelsome  in  small  matters,  incapable  of  keeping  any 
secret,  suspicious,  mistrustful;  fond  of  spreading  reports 
in  his  Court  to  make  mischief,  to  learn  what  was  really 
going  on  or  just  to  amuse  himself;  he  fetched  and  carried 
from  one  to  the  other.  With  so  many  defects,  unrelated 
to  any  virtue,  he  had  such  an  abominable  taste,  that  his 
gifts  and  the  fortunes  that  he  gave  to  those  he  took  into 
favor  had  rendered  him  publicly  scandalous.  He  neither 
respected  times  nor  places.  His  minions,  who  owed  him 
everything,  sometimes  treated  him  most  insolently;  and 
he  had  often  much  to  do  to  appease  horrible  jealousies. 


238  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

He  lived  in  continual  hot  water  with  his  favorites,  to 
say  nothing  of  the  quarrels  of  that  troop  of  ladies  of  a 
very  decided  character  —  many  of  whom  were  very  malic- 
ious, and  most,  more  than  malicious  —  with  whom  Mon- 
sieur used  to  divert  himself,  entering  into  all  their 
wretched  squabbles. 

The  Chevaliers  de  Lorraine  and  Chatillon  had  both 
made  a  large  fortune  by  their  good  looks,  with  which  he 
was  more  smitten  than  with  those  of  any  other  of  his  favor- 
ites. Chatillon,  who  had  neither  head,  nor  sense,  nor 
wit,  got  on  in  this  way,  and  acquired  fortune.  The  other 
behaved  like  a  Guisard,  who  blushes  at  nothing  pro- 
vided he  succeeds;  and  governed  Monsieur  with  a  high 
hand  all  his  life,  was  overwhelmed  with  money  and 
benefices,  did  what  he  liked  for  his  family,  lived  always 
publicly  as  the  master  with  Monsieur;  and  as  he  had, 
with  the  pride  of  the  Guises,  their  art  and  cleverness,  he 
contrived  to  get  between  the  King  and  Monsieur,  to  be 
dealt  with  gingerly,  if  not  feared  by  both,  and  was  almost 
as  important  a  man  with  the  one  as  with  the  other.  He 
had  the  finest  apartments  in  the  Palais  Royal  and  Saint 
Cloud,  and  a  pension  of  ten  thousand  crowns.  He  remained 
in  his  apartments  after  the  death  of  Monsieur,  but  would 
not  from  pride  continue  to  receive  the  pension,  which 
from  pride  was  offered  him.  Although  it  would  have 
been  difficult  to  be  more  timid  and  submissive  than  was 
Monsieur  with  the  King  —  for  he  flattered  both  his  Min- 
isters and  his  mistresses  —  he,  nevertheless,  mingled  with 
his  respectful  demeanor,  the  demeanor  of  a  brother,  and 
the  free  and  easy  ways  of  one.  In  private,  he  was  yet 
more  unconstrained;  always  taking  an  armed  chair,  and 
never  waiting  until  the  King  told  him  to  sit.  In  the 
Cabinet,  after  the  King  appeared,  no  other  Prince  sat 
besides  him,  not  even  Monseigneur.  But  in  what  regarded 
his  service,  and  his  manner  of  approaching  and  leaving 
the  King,  no  private  person  could  behave  with  more 
respect;  and  he  naturally  did  everything  with  grace  and 
dignity.  He  never,  however,  was  able  to  bend  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon  completely,  nor  avoid  making  small  attacks 
on  her  to  the  King,  nor  avoid  satirizing  her  pretty  broadly 
in  person.  It  was  not  her  success  that  annoyed  him ;  but 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  239 

simply  the  idea  that  La  Scarron  had  become  his  sister- 
in-law;  this  was  insupportable  to  him.  Monsieur  was 
extremely  vain,  but  not  haughty,  very  sensitive,  and  a 
great  stickler  for  what  was  due  to  him.  Upon  one  occa- 
sion he  complained  to  the  King  that  M.  le  Due  had  for 
some  time  neglected  to  attend  upon  him,  as  he  was  bound, 
and  had  boasted  that  he  would  not  do  it.  The  King 
replied,  that  it  was  not  a  thing  to  be  angry  about,  that 
he  ought  to  seek  an  opportunity  to  be  served  by  M.  le 
Due,  and  if  he  would  not,  to  affront  him.  Accordingly, 
one  morning  at  Marly,  as  he  was  dressing,  seeing  M.  le 
Due  walking  in  the  garden,  Monsieur  opened  the  window 
and  called  to  him.  Monsieur  le  Due  came  up,  and  entered 
the  room.  Then,  while  one  remark  was  leading  to  another. 
Monsieur  slipped  off  his  dressing  gown,  and  then  his  shirt. 
A  valet  de  chambre  standing  by,  at  once  slipped  a  clean 
shirt  into  the  hands  of  M.  le  Due,  who,  caught  thus  in  a 
trap,  was  compelled  to  offer  the  garment  to  Monsieur,  as 
it  was  his  duty  to  do.  As  soon  as  Monsieur  had  received 
it,  he  burst  out  laughing,  and  said  — (<  Good  bye,  cousin, 
go  away.  I  do  not  want  to  delay  you  longer. "  M.  le 
Due  felt  the  point  of  this,  and  went  away  very  angry, 
and  continued  so  in  consequence  of  the  high  tone  Mon- 
sieur afterward  kept  up  on  the  subject. 

Monsieur  was  a  little  round-bellied  man,  who  wore 
such  high-heeled  shoes  that  he  seemed  mounted  always 
upon  stilts:  was  always  decked  out  like  a  woman,  cov- 
ered everywhere  with  rings,  bracelets,  jewels;  with  a  long 
black  wig,  powdered,  and  curled  in  front;  with  ribbons 
wherever  he  could  put  them ;  steeped  in  perfumes,  and  in 
fine  a  model  of  cleanliness.  He  was  accused  of  putting 
on  an  imperceptible  touch  of  rouge.  He  had  a  long  nose, 
good  eyes  and  mouth,  a  full  but  very  long  face.  All  his 
portraits  resembled  him.  I  was  piqued  to  see  that  his 
features  recalled  those  of  Louis  XIII.,  to  whom,  except 
in  matters  of  courage,  he  was  so  completely  dissimi- 
lar. 

On  Saturday,  the  nth  of  June,  the  Court  returned  to 
Versailles.  On  arriving  there  the  King  went  to  visit 
Madame  and  her  son  and  daughter-in-law  separately. 
Madame,  very  much  troubled  by  reflection  on  her  position 


240  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

with  regard  to  the  King,  had  sent  the  Duchess  de  Ven- 
tadour  to  Madame  de  Maintenon.  The  latter  replied  to 
the  message  only  in  general  terms:  said  she  would  visit 
Madame  after  dinner,  and  requested  that  the  Duchess 
might  be  present  at  the  interview.  It  was  Sunday,  the 
morning  after  the  return  from  Marly.  After  the  first 
compliments,  everyone  went  out  except  Madame  de  Ven- 
tadour.  Then  Madame  requested  Madame  de  Maintenon 
to  sit  down ;  and  she  must  have  felt  her  position  keenly 
to  bring  her  to  this. 

She  began  the  conversation  by  complaining  of  the  indif- 
ference with  which  the  King  had  treated  her  during  her 
illness.  Madame  de  Maintenon  allowed  her  to  talk  on; 
and  when  she  had  finished,  said  that  the  King  had  com- 
manded her  to  say  that  their  common  loss  effaced  all  the 
past,  provided  that  he  had  reason  to  be  better  satisfied  for 
the  future,  not  only  as  regarded  M.  le  Due  de  Chartres, 
but  other  matters  also.  Upon  this  Madame  exclaimed 
and  protested  that,  except  in  as  far  as  regarded  her  son, 
she  had  never  given  cause  for  displeasure;  and  went  on 
alternating  complaints  and  justifications.  Precisely  at  the 
point  when  she  was  most  emphatic,  Madame  de  Maintenon 
drew  forth  a  letter  from  her  pocket  and  asked  if  the 
handwriting  was  known  to  her.  It  was  a  letter  from 
Madame  to  the  Duchess  of  Hanover,  in  which  she  said, 
after  giving  news  of  the  Court,  that  no  one  knew  what 
to  say  of  the  intercourse  between  the  King  and  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  whether  it  was  that  of  marriage  or  of 
concubinage;  and  then,  touching  upon  other  matters, 
launched  out  upon  the  misery  of  the  realm :  that,  she  said, 
was  too  great  to  be  relieved.  This  letter  had  been  opened 
at  the  post  —  as  almost  all  letters  were  at  that  time,  and 
are  indeed  still  —  and  sent  to  the  King.  It  may  be  imag- 
ined that  this  was  a  thunderstroke  to  Madame:  it  nearly 
killed  her.  She  burst  into  tears;  and  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon  very  quietly  and  demurely  began  to  represent  to 
her  the  contents  of  the  letter  in  all  its  parts,  especially  as 
it  was  addressed  to  a  foreign  country.  Madame  de  Venta- 
dour  interposed  with  some  twaddle,  to  give  Madame  time 
to  breathe  and  recover  sufficiently  to  say  something.  The 
best  excuse  was  the  admission  of  what  could  not  be 


DUKE    OF    SAINT-SIMON  241 

denied,  with  supplications  for  pardon,  expressions  of  re- 
pentance, prayers,  promises.  But  Madame  de  Maintenon 
had  not  finished  yet.  Having  got  rid  of  the  commission 
she  had  been  charged  with  by  the  King,  she  next  turned 
to  her  own  business :  she  asked  Madame  how  it  was,  that 
after  being  so  friendly  with  her  a  long  time  ago,  she  had 
suddenly  ceased  to  bestow  any  regard  upon  her,  and  had 
continued  to  treat  her  with  coldness  ever  since.  At  this, 
Madame  thinking  herself  quite  safe,  said  that  the  coldness 
was  on  the  part  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  had  all 
on  a  sudden  discontinued  the  friendly  intercourse  which 
formerly  existed  between  them.  As  before,  Madame  de 
Maintenon  allowed  Madame  to  talk  her  fill  before  she 
replied.  She  then  said  she  was  about  to  divulge  a  secret 
which  had  never  escaped  her  mouth,  although  she  had  for 
ten  years  been  at  liberty  to  tell  it ;  and  she  forthwith  related 
a  thousand  most  offensive  things  which  had  been  uttered 
against  her  by  Madame  to  the  late  Madame  la  Dauphine. 
This  latter,  falling  out  with  Madame,  had  related  all  these 
things  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  now  brought  them 
forward  triumphantly. 

At  this  new  blow,  Madame  was  thunderstruck,  and 
stood  like  a  statue.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
behave  as  before  —  that  is  to  say,  shed  tears,  cry,  ask 
pardon,  humble  herself,  and  beg  for  mercy.  Madame 
de  Maintenon  triumphed  coldly  over  her  for  a  long  time, 
—  allowing  her  to  excite  herself  in  talking,  and  weeping, 
and  taking  her  hands,  which  she  did  with  increasing 
energy  and  humility.  This  was  a  terrible  humiliation 
for  such  a  haughty  German.  Madame  de  Maintenon  at 
last  gave  way,  as  she  had  always  meant  to  do  after  having 
satiated  her  vengeance.  They  embraced,  promised  for- 
getfulness  on  both  sides,  and  a  new  friendship  from  that 
time.  The  King,  who  was  not  ignorant  of  what  had 
occurred,  took  back  Madame  into  favor.  She  went  neither 
to  a  convent  nor  to  Montargis,  but  was  allowed  to  remain 
in  Paris,  and  her  pension  was  augmented.  As  for  M. 
le  Due  de  Chartres,  he  was  prodigiously  well  treated. 
The  King  gave  him  all  the  pensions  Monsieur  had  en- 
joyed, besides  allowing  him  to  retain  his  own;  so  that 
he  had  one  million,  eight  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year; 

16 


242  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

added  to  the  Palais  Royal,  St.  Cloud,  and  other  mansions. 
He  had  a  Swiss  guard,  which  none  but  the  sons  of  France 
had  ever  had  before,  in  fact  he  retained  all  the  privileges 
his  father  had  enjoyed,  and  he  took  the  name  of  Due 
D'Orle*ans.  The  pensions  of  Madame  de  Chartres  were 
augmented.  All  these  honors  so  great  and  so  unheard  of 
bestowed  on  M.  de  Chartres,  and  an  income  of  a  hundred 
thousand  crowns  more  than  his  father,  were  due  solely  to 
the  quarrel  which  had  recently  taken  place  between 
Monsieur  and  the  King,  as  to  the  marriage  M.  de  Chartres 
had  made.  People  accustom  themselves  to  everything, 
but  this  prodigious  good  fortune  infinitely  surprised  every- 
body. The  princes  of  the  blood  were  extremely  mortified. 
To  console  them,  the  King  immediately  gave  to  M. 
le  Prince  all  the  advantages  of  a  first  prince  of  the 
blood,  and  added  ten  thousand  crowns  to  his  pen- 
sion. 

Madame  wore  deep  mourning  for  forty  days,  after  which 
she  threw  it  almost  entirely  aside,  with  the  King's  per- 
mission. He  did  not  like  to  see  such  sad-looking  things 
before  his  eyes  every  day.  Madame  went  about  in  pub- 
lic, and  with  the  Court,  in  her  half  mourning,  under 
pretense  that  being  with  the  King,  and  living  under  his 
roof,  she  was  of  the  family.  But  her  conduct  was  not 
the  less  thought  strange  in  spite  of  this  excuse.  During 
the  winter,  as  the  King  could  not  well  go  to  the 
theater,  the  theater  came  to  him,  in  the  apartments  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  where  comedies  with  music  were 
played.  The  King  wore  mourning  for  six  months,  and 
paid  all  the  expenses  of  the  superb  funeral  which  took 
place  on  the  i3th  of  June. 

While  upon  the  subject  of  Monsieur,  I  will  relate 
an  anecdote  known  to  but  few  people,  concerning  the 
death  of  his  first  wife  Henriette  d'Angleterre,  whom 
nobody  doubts  was  poisoned.*  Her  gallantries  made 
Monsieur  jealous;  and  his  tastes  made  her  furious. 

•There  appears  to  be  some  uncertainty  on  this  subject;  and  evi- 
dence has  been  collected  to  prove  that  at  any  rate  Saint-Simon  is 
mistaken  in  saying  that  at  the  time  of  her  supposed  murder,  Henriette 
dAngleterre  was  in  perfect  health.  The  story,  however,  harmonizes 
with  the  character  of  the  Court. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  243 

His  favorites,  whom  she  hated,  did  all  in  their  power 
to  sow  discord  between  them,  in  order  to  dispose  of 
Monsieur  at  their  will.  The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine,  then 
in  the  prime  of  his  first  youth  (having  been  born  in 
1643),  completely  ruled  over  Monsieur,  and  made  Mad- 
ame feel  that  he  had  this  power.  She,  charming  and 
young,  could  not  suffer  this,  and  complained  to  the 
King,  so  that  M.  de  Lorraine  was  exiled.  When  Mon- 
sieur heard  this,  he  swooned,  then  melted  into  tears, 
and  throwing  himself  at  the  feet  of  the  King,  implored  him 
to  recall  M.  de  Lorraine.  But  his  prayers  were  use- 
less, and,  rushing  away  in  fury,  he  retired  into  the 
country  and  remained  there  until,  ashamed  of  a  thing 
so  publicly  disgraceful,  he  returned  to  Paris  and  lived 
with  Madame  as  before. 

Although  M.  de  Lorraine  was  banished,  two  of  his 
intimate  friends,  D'Effiat  and  the  Count  de  Beuvron, 
remained  in  the  household  of  Monsieur.  The  absence 
of  M.  de  Lorraine  nipped  all  their  hopes  of  success, 
and  made  them  fear  that  some  other  favorite  might 
arrive  from  whom  they  could  hope  for  nothing.'  They 
saw  no  chance  that  M.  de  Lorraine's  exile  would  speedily 
terminate;  for  Madame  (Henriette  d'Angleterre)  was  in 
greater  favor  with  the  King  than  ever,  and  had  just 
been  sent  by  him  into  England  on  a  mysterious  er- 
rand in  which  she  had  perfectly  succeeded.  She  returned 
triumphant  and  very  well  in  health.  This  gave  the 
last  blow  to  the  hopes  of  d'Effiat  and  Beuvron,  as  to 
the  return  of  M.  de  Lorraine,  who  had  gone  to  Italy 
to  try  to  get  rid  of  his  vexation.  I  know  not  which 
of  the  three  thought  of  it  first,  but  the  Chevalier  de 
Lorraine  sent  a  sure  and  rapid  poison  to  his  two  friends 
by  a  messenger  who  did  not  probably  know  what  he 
carried. 

At  St.  Cloud  Madame  was  in  the  habit  of  taking  a 
glass  of  endive  water,  at  about  seven  o'clock  in  the 
evening.  A  servant  of  hers  used  to  make  it,  and  then 
put  it  away  in  a  cupboard  where  there  was  some  ordi- 
nary water  for  the  use  of  Madame  if  she  found  the  other 
too  bitter.  The  cupboard  was  in  an  antechamber  which 
served  as  the  public  passage  by  which  the  apartments  of 


244  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

Madame  were  reached.  D'Effiat  took  notice  of  all  these 
things,  and  on  the  zgih  of  June,  1670,  he  went  to  the 
antechamber;  saw  that  he  was  unobserved  and  that  no- 
body was  near,  and  threw  the  poison  into  the  endive 
water;  then  hearing  someone  approaching,  he  seized  the 
jug  of  common  water  and  feigned  to  be  putting  it  back 
in  its  place  just  as  the  servant,  before  alluded  to,  entered 
and  asked  him  sharply  what  he  was  doing  in  that  cup- 
board. D'Effiat,  without  losing  countenance,  asked  his 
pardon,  and  said,  that  being  thirsty  and  knowing  there 
was  some  water  in  the  cupboard,  he  could  not  resist 
drinking.  The  servant  grumbled;  and  D'Effiat,  trying 
to  appease  him,  entered  the  apartments  of  Madame,  like 
the  other  courtiers,  and  began  talking  without  the  slight- 
est emotion. 

What  followed  an  hour  afterward  does  not  belong  to 
my  subject,  and  has  made  only  too  much  stir  throughout 
all  Europe.  Madame  died  on  the  morrow,  June  3oth,  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  morning;  and  the  King  was  pro- 
foundly prostrated  with  grief.  Apparently  during  the 
day,  some  indications  showed  him  that  Purnon,  chief 
steward  of  Madame,  was  in  the  secret  of  her  decease. 
Purnon  was  brought  before  him  privately,  and  was  threat- 
ened with  instant  death,  unless  he  disclosed  all;  full 
pardon  being  on  the  contrary  promised  him  if  he  did. 
Purnon,  thus  pressed,  admitted  that  Madame  had  been 
poisoned,  and  under  the  circumstances  I  have  just  related. 
"And  my  brother, w  said  the  King,  <(did  he  know  of 
this  ? "  (<  No,  sir,  not  one  of  us  was  stupid  enough  to 
tell  him ;  he  has  no  secrecy,  he  would  have  betrayed  us.  * 
On  hearing  this  answer  the  King  uttered  a  great 
<(  ah  ! w  like  a  man  oppressed,  who  suddenly  breathes 
again. 

Purnon  was  immediately  set  at  liberty ;  and  years  after- 
ward related  this  narrative  to  M.  Joly  de  Fleury,  pro- 
cureur-general  of  the  Parliament,  by  which  magistrate  it 
was  related  to  me.  From  this  same  magistrate  I  learned 
that,  a  few  days  before  the  second  marriage  of  Monsieur, 
the  King  took  Madame  aside  and  told  her  that  circum- 
stance, assuring  her  that  he  was  too  honest  a  man  to 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  245 

wish  her  to  marry  his  brother,  if  that  brother  could  be 
capable  of  such  a  crime.  Madame  profited  by  what  she 
heard.  Purnon  remained  in  her  service ;  but  after  a  time 
she  pretended  to  find  faults  in  him,  and  made  him  resign ; 
he  sold  his  post  accordingly,  toward  the  end  of  1674,  to 
Maurel  de  Vaulonne,  and  quitted  her  service. 


CHAPTER    XXIII. 

Scandalous  Adventure  of  the  Abbesse  de  la  Joye  —  Anecdote  of 
Madame  de  Saint-Herem  —  Death  of  James  II.  and  Recognition  of 
His  Son  —  Alliance  against  France — Scene  at  St.  Maur — Balls  and 
Plays  —  The  (<  Electra  w  of  Longepierre  —  Romantic  Adventures  of  the 
Abbe  de  Vatteville. 

AT  THE  breaking  out  of  the  war  in  Italy  this  year 
Se*gur  bought  the  government  of  the  Foix  country 
from  Tallard,  one  of  the  generals  called  away  to 
serve  in  that  war.  Se"gur  had  been  in  his  youth  a  very 
handsome  fellow;  he  was  at  that  time  in  the  Black  Mus- 
keteers, and  this  company  was  always  quartered  at  Ne- 
mours while  the  Court  was  at  Fontainebleau.  Se*gur 
played  very  well  upon  the  lute ;  but  found  life  dull,  never- 
theless, at  Nemours,  made  the  acquaintance  of  the 
Abbesse  de  la  Joye,  a  place  hard  by,  and  charmed  her  ears 
and  eyes  so  much  that  she  became  with  child  by  him.  After 
some  months  the  Abbesse  pleaded  illness,  left  the  con- 
vent, and  set  out  for  the  waters,  as  she  said.  Putting 
off  her  journey  too  long,  she  was  obliged  to  stop  a  night 
at  Fontainebleau;  and  in  consequence  of  the  Court  being 
there,  could  find  no  accommodation,  except  in  a  wretched 
little  inn  already  full  of  company.  She  had  delayed  so 
long  that  the  pangs  of  labor  seized  her  in  the  night,  and 
the  cries  she  uttered  brought  all  the  house  to  her 
assistance.  She  was  delivered  of  a  child  then  and  there ; 
and  the  next  morning  this  fact  was  the  talk  of  the  town. 
The  Due  de  St.  Aignan,  one  of  the  first  of  the  courtiers 
who  learned  it,  went  straight  to  the  King,  who  was  brisk 
and  free  enough  in  those  days,  and  related  to  him  what 
had  occurred:  the  King  laughed  heartily  at  the  poor 
Abbesse,  who,  while  trying  to  hide  her  shame,  had  come 
into  the  very  midst  of  the  Court.  Nobody  knew  then 
that  her  abbey  was  only  four  leagues  distant,  but  every- 
body learned  it  soon,  and  the  Due  de  St.  Aignan  among 
the  first. 
(246) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON      247 

When  he  returned  to  his  house,  he  found  long  faces 
on  every  side.  His  servants  made  signs  one  to  another, 
but  nobody  said  a  word.  He  perceived  this,  and  asked 
what  was  the  matter;  but  for  some  time,  no  one  dared 
to  reply.  At  last  a  valet  de  chambre  grew  bold  enough 
to  say  to  St.  Aignan,  that  the  Abbesse,  whose  adventure 
had  afforded  so  much  mirth,  was  his  own  daughter;  and 
that,  after  he  had  gone  to  the  King,  she  had  sent  for 
assistance,  in  order  to  get  out  of  the  place  where  she 
was  staying. 

It  was  now  the  Duke's  turn  to  be  confused.  After 
having  made  the  King  and  all  the  Court  laugh  at  this 
adventure  he  became  himself  the  laughingstock  of  every- 
body. He  bore  the  affair  as  well  as  he  could;  carried 
away  the  Abbesse  and  her  baggage;  and,  as  the  scandal 
was  public,  made  her  send  in  her  resignation  and  hide 
herself  in  another  convent,  where  she  lived  more  than 
forty  years. 

That  worthy  man,  Saint-Herem,  died  this  year  at  his 
house  in  Auvergne,  to  which  he  had  retired.  Every- 
body liked  him;  and  M.  de  Rochefoucauld  had  reproached 
the  King  for  not  making  him  Chevalier  of  the  Order.  The 
King  had  confounded  him  with  Courtine,  his  brother-in- 
law,  for  they  had  married  two  sisters;  but  when  put 
right  had  not  given  the  favor. 

Madame  de  Saint-Herem  was  the  most  singular  crea- 
ture in  the  world,  not  only  in  face  but  in  manners. 
She  half  boiled  her  thigh  one  day  in  the  Seine,  near 
Fontainebleau,  where  she  was  bathing.  The  river  was 
too  cold;  she  wished  to  warm  it,  and  had  a  quantity 
of  water  heated  and  thrown  into  the  stream  just  above 
her.  The  water  reaching  her  before  it  could  grow  cold, 
scalded  her  so  much  that  she  was  forced  to  keep  her 
bed. 

When  it  thundered,  she  used  to  squat  herself  under  a 
couch  and  make  all  her  servants  lie  above,  one  upon  the 
other,  so  that  if  the  thunderbolt  fell,  it  might  have  its 
effect  upon  them  before  penetrating  her.  She  had  ruined 
herself  and  her  husband,  though  they  were  rich,  through 
sheer  imbecility;  and  it  is  incredible  the  amount  of 
money  she  spent  in  her  absurdities. 


248  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

The  best  adventure  which  happened  to  her,  among  a 
thousand  others,  was  at  her  house  in  the  Place  Royal, 
where  she  was  one  day  attacked  by  a  madman,  who,  finding 
her  alone  in  her  chamber,  was  very  enterprising.  The  good 
lady,  hideous  at  eighteen,  but  who  was  at  this  time  eighty 
and  a  widow,  cried  aloud  as  well  as  she  could.  Her  serv- 
ants heard  her  at  last,  ran  to  her  assistance,  and  found 
her  all  disordered,  struggling  in  the  hands  of  this  raging 
madman.  The  man  was  found  to  be  really  out  of  his 
senses  when  brought  before  the  tribunal,  and  the  story 
amused  everybody. 

The  health  of  the  King  of  England  (James  II.),  which 
had  for  some  time  been  very  languishing,  grew  weaker 
toward  the  middle  of  August  of  this  year,  and  by  the 
8th  of  September  completely  gave  way.  There  was  no 
longer  any  hope.  The  King,  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and 
all  the  royal  persons,  visited  him  often.  He  received 
the  last  Sacrament  with  a  piety  in  keeping  with  his  past 
life,  and  his  death  was  expected  every  instant.  In  this 
conjuncture  the  King  made  a  resolve  more  worthy  of 
Louis  XII.,  or  Francis  I.,  than  of  his  own  wisdom.  On 
Tuesday,  the  i3th  of  September,  he  went  from  Marly  to 
St.  Germain.  The  King  of  England  was  so  ill  that  when 
the  King  was  announced  to  him  he  scarcely  opened  his 
eyes  for  an  instant.  The  King  told  him  that  he  might 
die  in  peace  respecting  the  Prince  of  Wales,  whom  he 
would  recognize  as  King  of  England,  Scotland,  and  Ire- 
land. The  few  English  who  were  there,  threw  them- 
selves upon  their  knees,  but  the  King  of  England  gave 
no  signs  of  life.  The  gratitude  of  the  Prince  of  Wales 
and  of  his  mother,  when  they  heard  what  the  King  had 
said,  may  be  imagined.  Returned  to  Marly,  the  King 
repeated  to  all  the  Court  what  he  had  said.  Nothing 
was  heard  but  praises  and  applause. 

Yet  reflections  did  not  fail  to  be  made  promptly,  if 
not  publicly.  It  was  seen,  that  to  recognize  the  Prince 
of  Wales  was  to  act  in  direct  opposition  to  the  recogni- 
tion of  the  Prince  of  Orange  as  King  of  England,  that 
the.  King  had  declared  at  the  peace  of  Ryswick.  It  was 
to  wound  the  Prince  of  Orange  in  the  tenderest  point, 
and  to  invite  England  and  Holland  to  become  allies  of 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  249 

the  Emperor  against  France.  As  for  the  Prince  of 
Wales,  this  recognition  was  no  solid  disadvantage  to  him, 
but  was  calculated  to  make  the  party  opposed  to  him  in 
England  only  more  bitter  and  vigilant  in  their  opposi- 
tion. 

The  King  of  England,  in  the  few  intervals  of  intelli- 
gence he  had,  appeared  much  impressed  by  what  the 
King  had  done.  He  died  about  three  o'clock  in  the  aft- 
ernoon of  the  1 6th  of  September  of  this  year,  1701.  He 
had  requested  that  there  might  be  no  display  at  his 
funeral,  and  his  wish  was  faithfully  observed.  He  was 
buried  on  the  Saturday,  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening 
in  the  church  of  the  English  Benedictines  at  Paris,  Rue 
St.  Jacques,  without  pomp,  and  attended  by  but  few 
mourners.  His  body  rests  in  the  chapel,  like  that  of  the 
simplest  private  person,  until  the  time,  apparently  very 
distant,  when  it  shall  be  transported  to  England. 
His  heart  is  at  the  Filles  de  Saint  Marie,  of  Chail- 
lot. 

Immediately  afterward,  the  Prince  of  Wales  was  received 
by  the  King  as  King  of  England,  with  all  the  formali- 
ties and  state  with  which  his  father  before  him  had 
been  received.  Soon  afterward  he  was  recognized  by  the 
new  King  of  Spain. 

The  Count  of  Manchester,  English  ambassador  in 
France,  ceased  to  appear  at  Versailles  after  this  recog- 
nition of  the  Prince  of  Wales  by  the  King,  and  immedi- 
ately quitted  his  post  and  left  the  country  without  any 
leave-taking.  King  William  heard,  while  in  Holland,  of 
the  death  of  James  II.  and  of  this  recognition.  He  was 
at  table  with  some  German  princes  and  other  lords  when 
the  news  arrived;  did  not  utter  a  word,  except  to  an- 
nounce the  death;  but  blushed,  pulled  down  his  hat,  and 
could  not  keep  his  countenance.  He  sent  orders  to  Lon- 
don, to  drive  out  Poussin,  acting  as  French  ambassador, 
immediately;  and  Poussin  directly  crossed  the  sea  and 
arrived  at  Calais. 

This  event  was  itself  followed  by  the  signing  of  the 
great  treaty  of  alliance  offensive  and  defensive,  against 
France  and  Spain,  by  Austria,  England,  and  Holland ;  in 
which  they  afterward  succeeded  in  engaging  other  pow- 


250  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

ers,  which   compelled  the   King   to  increase  the  number 
of  his  troops. 

Just  after  the  return  of  the  Court  from  Fontainebleau, 
a  strange  scene  happened  at  St.  Maur,  in  a  pretty  house 
there  which  M.  le  Due  possessed.  He  was  at  this  house 
one  night  with  five  or  six  intimate  friends,  whom  he  had 
invited  to  pass  the  night  there.  One  of  these  friends  was 
the  Comte  de  Fiesque.  At  table,  and  before  the  wine 
had  begun  to  circulate,  a  dispute  upon  some  historical 
point  arose  between  him  and  M.  le  Due.  The  Comte  de 
Fiesque,  who  had  some  intellect  and  learning,  strongly 
sustained  his  opinion.  M.  le  Due  sustained  his;  and  for 
want  of  better  reasons,  threw  a  plate  at  the  head  of 
Fiesque,  drove  him  from  the  table  and  out  of  the  house. 
So  sudden  and  strange  a  scene  frightened  the  guests. 
The  Comte  de  Fiesque,  who  had  gone  to  M.  le  Due's 
house  with  the  intention  of  passing  the  night  there,  had 
not  retained  a  carriage,  went  to  ask  shelter  of  the  curd 
and  got  back  to  Paris  the  next  day  as  early  in  the  morn- 
ing as  he  could.  It  may  be  imagined  that  the  rest  of 
the  supper  and  of  the  evening  were  terribly  dull.  M.  le 
Due  remained  fuming  ( perhaps  against  himself,  but  with- 
out saying  so ),  and  could  not  be  induced  to  apologize 
for  the  affront.  It  made  a  great  stir  in  society,  and 
things  remained  thus  several  months.  After  a  while, 
friends  mixed  themselves  in  the  matter;  M.  le  Due,  com- 
pletely himself  again,  made  all  the  advances  toward  a 
reconciliation.  The  Comte  de  Fiesque  received  them, 
and  the  reconciliation  took  place.  The  most  surprising 
thing  is,  that  after  this  they  continued  on  as  good  terms 
as  though  nothing  had  passed  between  them. 

The  year  1702  commenced  with  balls  at  Versailles, 
many  of  which  were  masquerades.  Madame  du  Maine 
gave  several  in  her  chamber,  always  keeping  her  bed  be- 
cause she  was  in  the  family  way;  which  made  rather  a 
singular  spectacle.  There  were  several  balls  at  Marly, 
but  the  majority  were  not  masquerades.  The  King  often 
witnessed,  but  in  strict  privacy,  and  always  in  the  apart- 
ments of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  sacred  dramas  such  as 
<(  Absolon, M  <(  Athalie, M  etc. ,  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bour- 
gogne,  M.  le  Due  d'Orle'ans,  the  Comte  and  Comtesse 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  251 

d'Anjou,  the  young  Comte  de  Noailles,  Mademoiselle  de 
Melun,  urged  by  the  Noailles,  played  the  principal  char- 
acters in  very  magnificent  stage  dresses.  Baron,  the 
excellent  old  actor  instructed  them  and  played  with  them. 
M.  de  Noailles  and  his  clever  wife  were  the  inventors  and 
promoters  of  these  interior  pleasures,  for  the  purpose  of 
intruding  themselves  more  and  more  into  the  society  of 
the  King,  in  support  of  the  alliance  of  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon. 

Only  forty  spectators  were  admitted  to  the  representa- 
tions. Madame  was  sometimes  invited  by  the  King,  be- 
cause she  liked  plays.  This  favor  was  much  sought 
after.  Madame  de  Maintenon  wished  to  show  that  she 
had  forgotten  the  past. 

Longepierre  had  written  a  very  singular  piece  called 
<(  Electra, w  which  was  played  on  a  magnificent  stage 
erected  in  Madame  de  Conti's  house,  and  all  the  Court 
flocked  several  times  to  see  it.  This  piece  was  without 
love,  but  full  of  other  passions  and  of  the  most  interest- 
ing situations.  I  think  it  had  been  written  in  the  hopes 
that  the  King  would  go  and  see  it.  But  he  contented 
himself  with  hearing  it  talked  about,  and  the  representa- 
tion was  confined  to  the  Hotel  de  Conti.  Longepierre 
would  not  allow  it  to  be  given  elsewhere.  He  was  an 
intriguing  fellow  of  much  wit,  gentle,  insinuating,  and 
who,  under  a  tranquillity  and  indifference  and  a  very 
deceitful  philosophy,  thrust  himself  everywhere,  and 
meddled  with  everything  in  order  to  make  his  fortune. 
He  succeeded  in  intruding  himself  into  favor  with  the 
Due  de  Orleans,  but  behaved  so  badly  that  he  was  driven 
away. 

The  death  of  the  Abbe"  de  Vatteville  occurred  at  the 
commencement  of  this  year,  and  made  some  noise,  on 
account  of  the  prodigies  of  the  Abba's  life.  This  Vatte- 
ville was  the  younger  son  of  a  Franche-Comte  family; 
early  in  life  he  joined  the  Order  of  the  Chartreux  monks, 
and  was  ordained  priest.  He  had  much  intellect,  but  was 
of  an  impetuous  spirit,  and  soon  began  to  chafe  under 
the  yoke  of  a  religious  life.  He  determined,  therefore, 
to  set  himself  free  from  it  and  procured  some  secular 
habits,  pistols  and  a  horse.  Just  as  he  was  about  to 


252  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

escape  over  the  walls  of  a  monastery  by  means  of  a  ladder, 
the  prior  entered  his  cell.  Vatteville  made  no  to-do,  but 
at  once  drew  a  pistol,  shot  the  prior  dead,  and  effected 
his  escape. 

Two  or  three  days  afterward  traveling  over  the  coun- 
try and  avoiding  as  much  as  possible  the  frequented 
places,  he  arrived  at  a  wretched  roadside  inn,  and  asked 
what  there  was  in  the  house.  The  landlord  replied  —  "A 
leg  of  mutton  and  a  capon. }>  a  Good ! w  replied  our  un- 
frocked monk;  "put  them  down  to  roast." 

The  landlord  replied  that  they  were  too  mnch  for  a 
single  person,  and  that  he  had  nothing  else  for  the 
whole  house.  The  monk  upon  this  flew  in  a  passion,  and 
declared  that  the  least  the  landlord  could  do  was  to  give 
him  what  he  would  pay  for;  and  that  he  had  sufficient 
appetite  to  eat  both  leg  of  mutton  and  capon.  They 
were  accordingly  put  down  to  the  fire,  the  landlord  not 
daring  to  say  another  word.  While  they  were  cooking,  a 
traveler  on  horseback  arrived  at  the  inn,  and  learning 
that  they  were  for  one  person,  was  much  astonished. 
He  offered  to  pay  his  share  to  be  allowed  to  dine  off 
them  with  the  stranger  who  had  ordered  this  dinner;  but 
the  landlord  told  him  he  was  afraid  the  gentleman  would 
not  consent  to  the  arrangement.  Thereupon  the  traveler 
went  upstairs,  and  civilly  asked  Vatteville  if  he  might 
dine  with  him  on  paying  half  of  the  expense.  Vatteville 
would  not  consent,  and  a  dispute  soon  arose  between  the 
two :  to  be  brief,  the  monk  served  this  traveler  as  he  had 
served  the  prior,  killed  him  with  a  pistol  shot.  After 
this  he  went  downstairs  tranquilly,  and  in  the  midst  of 
the  fright  of  the  landlord  and  of  the  whole  house,  had 
the  leg  of  mutton  and  capon  served  up  to  him,  picked 
both  to  the  very  bone,  paid  his  score,  remounted  his 
horse,  and  went  his  way. 

Not  knowing  what  course  to  take,  he  went  to  Turkey, 
and  in  order  to  succeed  there,  had  himself  circumcised, 
put  on  the  turban,  and  entered  into  the  militia.  His 
blasphemy  advanced  him,  his  talents  and  his  color  dis- 
tinguished him:  he  became  Bacha,  and  the  confidential 
man  in  the  Morea,  where  the  Turks  were  making  war 
against  the  Venetians.  He  determined  to  make  use  of 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  253 

this  position  in  order  to  advance  his  own  interests,  and 
entering  into  communication  with  the  generalissimo  of 
the  Republic,  promised  to  betray  into  his  hands  several 
secret  places  belonging  to  the  Turks,  but  on  certain  con- 
ditions. These  were,  absolution  from  the  Pope  for  all 
crimes  of  his  life,  his  murders  and  his  apostasy  included ; 
security  against  the  Chartreux  and  against  being  placed 
in  any  other  Order;  full  restitution  of  his  civil  rights, 
and  liberty  to  exercise  his  profession  of  priest  with  the 
right  of  possessing  all  benefices  of  every  kind.  The  Ve- 
netians thought  the  bargain  too  good  to  be  refused,  and 
the  Pope,  in  the  interest  of  the  church,  accorded  all  the 
demands  of  the  Bacha.  When  Vatteville  was  quite  as- 
sured that  his  conditions  would  be  complied  with,  he 
took  his  measures  so  well  that  he  executed  perfectly  all 
he  had  undertaken.  Immediately  after  he  threw  himself 
into  the  Venetian  army,  and  passed  into  Italy.  He  was 
well  received  at  Rome  by  the  Pope,  and  returned  to  his 
family  in  Franche-Comte",  and  amused  himself  by  braving 
the  Chartreux. 

At  the  first  conquest  of  the  Franche-Comte',  he  in- 
trigued so  well  with  the  Queenmother  and  the  ministry, 
that  he  was  promised  the  Archbishopric  of  Besangon;  but 
the  Pope  cried  out  against  this  on  account  of  his  mur- 
ders, circumcision,  and  apostasy.  The  King  sided  with 
the  Pope,  and  Vatteville  was  obliged  to  be  contented 
with  the  abbey  of  Baume,  another  good  abbey  in  Picardy, 
and  divers  other  advantages. 

Except  when  he  came  to  the  Court,  where  he  was  al- 
ways received  with  great  distinction,  he  remained  at  his 
abbey  of  Baume,  living  there  like  a  grand  seigneur,  keep- 
ing a  fine  pack  of  hounds,  a  good  table,  entertaining  jovial 
company,  keeping  mistresses  very  freely;  tyrannizing 
over  his  tenants  and  his  neighbors  in  the  most  absolute 
manner.  The  intendants  gave  way  to  him,  and  by  ex- 
press orders  of  the  Court  allowed  him  to  act  much  as  he 
pleased,  even  with  the  taxes,  which  he  regulated  at  his 
will,  and  in  his  conduct  was  oftentimes  very  violent. 
With  these  manners  and  this  bearing,  which  caused  him 
to  be  both  feared  and  respected,  he  would  often  amuse 
himself  by  going  to  see  the  Chartreux,  in  order  to  plume 


254      MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

himself  on  having  quitted  their  frock.  He  played  much 
at  hombre,  and  frequently  gained  codille  (a  term  of  the 
game),  so  that  the  name  of  the  Abbe"  Codille  was  given 
to  him.  He  lived  in  this  manner  always  with  the  same 
license  and  in  the  same  consideration,  until  nearly  ninety 
years  of  age. 


CHAPTER    XXIV. 

Changes  in  the  Army  —  I  Leave  the  Service  — Annoyance  of  the  King 
—The  Medallic  History  of  the  Reign—  Louis  XIII.— Death  of  Will- 
iam III. — Accession  of  Queen  Anne — The  Alliance  Continued  — 
Anecdotes  of  Catinat  —  Madame  de  Maintenon  and  the  King. 

THE  changes  which  took  place  in  the  army  after  the 
peace  of  Ryswick,  were  very  great  and  very  strange. 
The  excellence  of  the  regiments,  the  merits  of  the 
officers,  those  who  commanded,  all  were  forgotten  by  Bar- 
bezieux,  young  and  impetuous,  whom  the  King  allowed 
to  act  as  he  liked.  My  regiment  was  disbanded,  and  my 
company  was  incorporated  with  that  of  Count  d'Uzes, 
brother-in-law  of  Duras,  who  looked  well  after  the  inter- 
ests of  his  relative.  I  was  thus  deprived  of  command, 
without  regiment,  without  company,  and  the  only  opportu- 
nity offered  me  was  to  serve  in  a  regiment  commanded 
by  St.  Moris,  where  I  should  have  been,  as  it  were,  at  the 
lowest  step  in  the  ladder,  with  my  whole  military  career 
to  begin  over  again. 

I  had  served  at  the  head  of  my  regiment  during  four 
campaigns,  with  applause  and  reputation,  I  am  bold 
enough  to  say  it.  I  thought  therefore  I  was  entitled  to 
better  treatment  than  this.  Promotions  were  made;  five 
officers,  all  my  juniors,  were  placed  over  my  head.  I  re- 
solved then  to  leave  the  service,  but  not  to  take  a  rash 
step.  I  consulted  first  with  several  friends  before  send- 
ing in  my  resignation.  All  whom  I  consulted  advised  me 
to  quit  the  service,  but  for  a  long  time  I  could  not  re- 
solve to  do  so.  Nearly  three  months  passed,  during  which 
I  suffered  cruel  anguish  of  mind  from  my  irresolution. 
I  knew  that  if  I  left  the  army  I  should  be  certain  to  in- 
cur the  anger  of  the  King,  and  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say 
that  this  was  not  a  matter  of  indifference  to  me.  The 
King  was  always  annoyed  when  anybody  ceased  to 
serve ;  he  called  it  <(  quitting  him  M ;  and  made  his  anger 

(255) 


256  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

felt  for  a  long  time.     At  last,  however,   I  determined  on 
my  course  of  action. 

I  wrote  a  short  letter  to  the  King,  in  which,  without 
making  any  complaints,  I  said  that  as  my  health  was 
not  good  (it  had  given  me  some  trouble  on  different 
occasions)  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  quit  his  service, 
and  said  that  I  hoped  I  should  be  permitted  to  console 
myself  for  leaving  the  army  by  assiduously  attending 
upon  him  at  the  Court.  After  dispatching  this  letter  I 
went  away  immediately  to  Paris. 

I  learned  afterward  from  my  friends,  that  upon  receiv- 
ing my  letter  the  King  called  Chamillart  to  him,  and 
said  with  emotion:  "Well!  Monsieur,  here  is  another 
man  who  quits  us !  *  and  he  read  my  letter  word  for 
word.  I  did  not  learn  that  anything  else  escaped  him. 

As  for  me,  I  did  not  return  to  Versailles  for  a  whole 
week,  or  see  the  King  again  until  Easter  Monday.  After 
his  supper  that  evening,  and  when  about  to  undress  him- 
self, he  paid  me  a  distinction, —  a  mere  trifle  I  admit, 
and  which  I  should  be  ashamed  to  mention  if  it  did  not 
under  the  circumstances  serve  as  a  characteristic  of  him. 

Although  the  place  he  undressed  in  was  very  well 
illuminated,  the  chaplain  at  the  evening  prayers  there 
held  in  his  hand  a  lighted  candle,  which  he  gave  after- 
ward to  the  chief  valet  de  chambre,  who  carried  it  before 
the  King  until  he  reached  his  armchair,  and  then  handed 
it  to  whoever  the  King  ordered  him  to  give  it  to.  On 
this  evening  the  King,  glancing  all  around  him,  cast  his 
eye  upon  me,  and  told  the  valet  to  give  the  candle  to 
me.  It  was  an  honor  which  he  bestowed  sometimes  upon 
one,  sometimes  upon  another,  according  to  his  whim, 
but  which,  by  his  manner  of  bestowing  it,  was  always 
coveted,  as  a  great  distinction.  My  surprise  may  be 
imagined  when  I  heard  myself  named  aloud  for  this 
office,  not  only  on  this  but  on  many  other  occasions.  It 
was  not  that  there  was  any  lack  of  people  of  consider- 
ation to  hold  the  candle;  but  the  King  was  sufficiently 
piqued  by  my  retirement  not  to  wish  everybody  to  see 
that  he  was  so. 

For  three  years  he  failed  not  to  make  me  feel  to  what 
extent  he  was  angry  with  me.  He  spoke  to  me  no 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  257 

longer;  he  scarcely  bestowed  a  glance  upon  me,  and 
never  once  alluded  to  my  letter.  To  show  that  his  an- 
noyance did  not  extend  to  my  wife,  but  that  it  was 
solely  and  wholly  directed  against  me,  he  bestowed, 
about  eight  months  after,  several  marks  of  favor  upon 
Madame  de  Saint-Simon.  She  was  continually  invited  to 
the  suppers  at  Trianon  —  an  honor  which  had  never 
before  been  granted  her.  I  only  laughed  at  this.  Madame 
de  Saint-Simon  was  not  invited  to  Marly,  because  the 
husbands  always,  by  right,  accompanied  their  wives 
there,  apartments  being  given  for  both.  At  Trianon  it 
was  different.  Nobody  was  allowed  to  sleep  there  except 
those  absolutely  in  attendance.  The  King  wished,  there- 
fore, the  better  to  mark  by  this  distinction  that  the  ex- 
clusion was  intended  for  me  alone,  and  that  my  wife  had 
no  part  in  it. 

Notwithstanding  this,  I  persevered  in  my  ordinary 
assiduity,  without  ever  asking  to  be  invited  to  Marly, 
and  lived  agreeably  with  my  wife  and  my  friends.  I  have 
thought  it  best  to  finish  with  this  subject  at  once — now 
I  must  go  back  to  my  starting  point. 

At  the  commencement  of  this  year  (1702)  it  seemed 
as  though  the  flatterers  of  the  King  foresaw  that  the 
prosperity  of  his  reign  was  at  an  end,  and  that  hence- 
forth they  would  only  have  to  praise  him  for  his  con- 
stancy. The  great  number  of  medals  that  had  been 
struck  on  all  occasions  —  the  most  ordinary  not  having 
been  forgotten  —  were  collected,  engraved,  and  destined 
for  a  medallic  history.  The  Abbe's  Tallemant,  Toureil, 
and  Dacier,  three  learned  members  of  the  Academy, 
were  charged  with  the  explanation  to  be  placed  opposite 
each  of  these  medals,  in  a  large  volume  of  the  most 
magnificent  impression  of  the  Louvre.  As  the  history 
commenced  at  the  death  of  Louis  XIII.,  his  medal  was 
placed  at  the  head  of  the  book,  and  thus  it  be- 
came neccessary  to  say  something  of  him  in  the  pref- 
ace. 

As   it    was   known    that    I  had  a  correct  knowledge    of 

Louis    XIII. ,   I    was    asked    to   write    that  portion  of  the 

preface  which   related   to   him.       I   consented  to  this,  but 

on   condition    that   I    should    be    spared   the   ridicule   of 

17 


258  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

it  in  society,  and  that  the  matter  should  be  faithfully 
kept  secret.  I  wrote  my  theme  then,  which  cost  me 
little  more  than  a  morning,  being  of  small  extent. 
I  had  the  fate  of  authors:  my  writing  was  praised, 
and  appeared  to  answer  all  expectations.  I  congratu- 
lated myself,  delighted  at  having  devoted  two  or 
three  hours  to  a  grateful  duty  —  for  so  I  considered  it. 

But  when  my  essay  was  examined,  the  three  gentle- 
men above-named  were  affrighted.  There  are  truths,  the 
unstudied  simplicity  of  which  emits  a  lustre  which  ob- 
scures all  the  results  of  an  eloquence  which  exaggerates 
or  extenuates;  Louis  XIII.  furnished  such  truths  in 
abundance.  I  had  contented  myself  by  showing  them 
forth;  but  this  picture  tarnished  those  which  followed  — 
so  at  least  it  appeared  to  those  who  had  gilded  the  latter. 
They  applied  themselves,  therefore,  to  cut  out,  or  weaken, 
everything  that  might,  by  comparison,  obscure  their 
hero.  But  as  they  found  at  last  that  it  was  not  me  they 
had  to  correct,  but  the  thing  itself,  they  gave  up  the 
task  altogether,  threw  aside  my  writing,  and  printed  the 
history  without  any  notice  whatever  of  Louis  XIII.  under 
his  portrait  —  except  to  note  that  his  death  caused  his 
son  to  ascend  the  throne.  Reflections  upon  this  kind  of 
iniquity  would  carry  me  too  far. 

In  the  early  part  of  this  year  (1702),  King  William  (of 
England),  worn  out  before  his  time  with  labors  and  busi- 
ness, in  which  he  had  been  engaged  all  his  life,  and  which 
he  had  carried  on  with  a  capacity,  and  address,  a  superiority 
of  genius  that  acquired  for  him  supreme  authority  in  Hol- 
land, the  crown  of  England,  the  confidence,  and,  to 
speak  the  truth,  the  complete  dictatorship  of  all  Europe 
—  except  France;  —  King  William,  I  say,  had  fallen  into 
a  wasting  of  strength  and  of  health  which,  without  at- 
tacking or  diminishing  his  intellect,  or  causing  him  to 
relax  the  infinite  labors  of  his  cabinet,  was  accompanied 
by  a  deficiency  of  breath,  which  aggravated  the  asthma 
he  had  had  for  several  years.  He  felt  his  condition,  and 
his  powerful  genius  did  not  disavow  it.  Under  forged 
names  he  consulted  the  most  eminent  physicians  of  Eu- 
rope, among  others,  Fagon;  who,  having  to  do,  as  he 
thought,  with  a  curt,  replied  in  all  sincerity,  and  without 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  259 

dissimulation,  that  he  must  prepare  for  a  speedy  death. 
His  illness  increasing,  William  consulted  Fagon  anew, 
but  this  time  openly.  The  physician  recognized  the  mal- 
ady of  the  curt — he  did  not  change  his  opinion,  but 
expressed  it  in  a  less  decided  manner,  and  prescribed 
with  much  feeling  the  remedies  most  likely  if  not  to 
cure,  at  least  to  prolong.  These  remedies  were  followed 
and  gave  relief;  but  at  last  the  time  had  arrived  when 
William  was  to  feel  that  the  greatest  men  finish  like  the 
humblest  —  and  to  see  the  nothingness  of  what  the  world 
calls  great  destinies. 

He  rode  out  as  often  as  he  could;  but  no  longer  hav- 
ing the  strength  to  hold  himself  on  horseback,  received  a 
fall,  which  hastened  his  end  by  the  shock  it  gave  him. 
He  occupied  himself  with  religion  as  little  as  he  had  all 
his  life.  He  ordered  everything,  and  spoke  to  his  min- 
isters and  his  familiars  with  a  surprising  tranquillity, 
which  did  not  abandon  him  until  the  last  moment.  Al- 
though crushed  with  pain,  he  had  the  satisfaction  of 
thinking  that  he  had  consummated  a  great  alliance,  which 
would  last  after  his  death,  and  that  it  would  strike  the 
great  blow  against  France,  which  he  had  projected.  This 
thought,  which  flattered  him  even  in  the  hour  of  death, 
stood  in  place  of  all  other  consolation, —  a  consolation 
frivolous  and  cruelly  deceitful,  which  left  him  soon  the 
prey  to  eternal  truths!  For  two  days  he  was  sustained 
by  strong  waters  and  spirituous  liquors.  His  last  nour- 
ishment was  a  cup  of  chocolate.  He  died  the  igih  of 
March,  1702,  at  10  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

The  Princess  Anne,  his  sister-in-law,  wife  of  Prince 
George  of  Denmark,  was  at  the  same  time  proclaimed 
queen.  A  few  days  after,  she  declared  her  husband 
Grand  Admiral  and  Commander-in-chief  (generalissimo), 
recalled  the  Earl  of  Rochester,  her  maternal  uncle,  and 
the  Earl  of  Sunderland,  and  sent  the  Dnke  of  Marl- 
borough,  afterward  so  well  known,  to  Holland  to  follow 
out  there  all  the  plans  of  his  predecessor. 

The  King  did  not  learn  this  death  until  the  Saturday 
morning  following,  by  a  courier  from  Calais.  A  boat 
had  escaped,  in  spite  of  the  vigilance  which  had  closed 
the  ports.  The  King  was  silent  upon  the  news,  except 


26o  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

to  Monseigneur  and  to  Madame  de  Maintenon.  On  the 
next  day  confirmation  of  the  intelligence  arrived  from 
all  parts.  The  King  no  longer  made  a  secret  of  it,  but 
spoke  little  on  the  subject,  and  affected  much  indiffer- 
ence respecting  it.  With  the  recollection  of  all  the  in- 
decent follies  committed  in  Paris  during  the  last  war, 
when  it  was  believed  that  William  had  been  killed  at  the 
battle  of  the  Boyne  in  Ireland,  the  necessary  precautions 
against  falling  into  the  same  error  were  taken  by  the 
King's  orders. 

The  King  simply  declared  that  he  would  not  wear 
mourning,  and  prohibited  the  Due  de  Bouillon,  the 
Mare*chal  de  Duras  and  the  Marechal  de  Lorges,  who 
were  all  related  to  William,  from  doing  so  —  an  act  prob- 
ably without  example.  Nearly  all  England  and  the 
United  Provinces  mourned  the  loss  of  William.  Some 
good  republicans  alone  breathed  again  with  joy  in  secret, 
at  having  recovered  their  liberty.  The  grand  alliance 
was  very  sensibly  touched  by  this  loss,  but  found  itself 
so  well  cemented,  that  the  spirit  of  William  continued  to 
animate  it;  and  Heinsius,  his  confidant,  perpetuated  it, 
and  inspired  all  the  chiefs  of  the  republic,  their  allies  and 
their  generals,  with  it,  so  that  it  scarcely  appeared  that 
William  was  no  more. 

I  have  related,  in  its  proper  place,  all  that  happened 
to  Catinat  in  Italy,  when  the  schemes  of  Tesse"  and  M. 
de  Vaudemont  caused  him  to  be  dismissed  from  the  com- 
mand of  the  army.  After  the  signing  of  the  alliance 
against  France  by  the  Emperor,  England,  and  Holland, 
the  war  took  a  more  extended  field.  It  became  necessary 
to  send  an  army  to  the  Rhine.  There  was  nothing  for 
it  but  to  have  recourse  to  Catinat. 

Since  his  return  from  Italy,  he  had  almost  always  lived 
at  his  little  house  of  Gratien,  beyond  St.  Denis,  where 
he  bore  with  wisdom  the  injury  that  had  been  done 
him  and  the  neglect  he  had  experienced  upon  his  return, 
surrounded  by  his  family  and  a  small  number  of  friends. 
Chamillart  one  day  sent  for  him,  saying  that  he  had  the 
King's  order  to  talk  with  him.  Catinat  went  accord- 
ingly to  Chamillart,  from  whom  he  learned  that  he  was 
destined  for  the  Rhine;  he  refused  the  command,  and 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  261 

only  accepted  it  after  a  long  dispute,  by  the  necessity  of 
obedience. 

On  the  morrow,  the  nth  of  March,  the  King  called 
Catinat  into  his  cabinet.  The  conversation  was  amiable 
on  the  part  of  the  King,  serious  and  respectful  on  the 
part  of  Catinat.  The  King,  who  perceived  this,  wished 
to  make  him  speak  about  Italy,  and  pressed  him  to  ex- 
plain what  had  really  passed  there.  Catinat  excused 
himself,  saying  that  everything  belonged  to  the  past,  and 
that  it  was  useless  now  to  rake  up  matters  which  would 
give  him  a  bad  opinion  of  the  people  who  served  him, 
and  nourish  eternal  enmity.  The  King  admired  the  sa- 
gacity and  virtue  of  Catinat,  but,  wishing  to  sound  the 
depths  of  certain  things,  and  discover  who  was  really 
to  blame,  pressed  him  more  and  more  to  speak  out; 
mentioning  certain  things  which  Catinat  had  not  ren- 
dered an  account  of,  and  others  he  had  been  silent 
upon,  all  of  which  had  come  to  him  from  other 
sources. 

Catinat,  who,  by  his  conversation  of  the  previous  even- 
ing with  Chamillart,  suspected  that  the  King  would  say 
something  to  him,  had  brought  his  papers  to  Versailles. 
Sure  of  his  position,  he  declared  that  he  had  not  in  any 
way  failed  to  render  account  to  Chamillart  or  to  the  King, 
and  detailed  the  very  things  that  had  just  been  mentioned 
to  him.  He  begged  that  a  messenger  might  be  dispatched 
in  order  to  search  his  cassette,  in  which  the  proofs  of 
what  he  had  advanced  could  be  seen, —  truths  that 
Chamillart,  if  present,  he  said,  would  not  dare  to  disa- 
vow. The  King  took  him  at  his  word,  and  sent  in  search 
of  Chamillart. 

When  he  arrived,  the  King  related  to  him  the  conver- 
sation that  had  just  taken  place.  Chamillart  replied  with 
an  embarrassed  voice,  that  there  was  no  necessity  to  wait 
for  the  cassette  of  Catinat,  for  he  admitted  that  the  ac- 
cusation against  him  was  true  in  every  respect.  The 
King,  much  astonished,  reproved  him  for  his  infidelity  in 
keeping  silence  upon  these  comments,  whereby  Catinat 
had  lost  his  favor.  Chamillart,  his  eyes  lowered,  allowed 
the  King  to  say  on;  but  as  he  felt  that  his  anger  was 
rising,  said,  <(  Sire,  you  are  right ;  but  it  is  not  my  fault. }> 


262  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

<(  And  whose  is  it,  then  ?  *  replied  the  King  warmly. 
*  Is  it  mine  ?  * 

<(  Certainly  not,  Sire, w  said  Chamillart,  trembling ;  <(  but 
I  am  bold  enough  to  tell  you,  with  the  most  exact  truth, 
that  it  is  not  mine.* 

The  King  insisting,  Chamillart  was  obliged  to  explain, 
that  having  shown  the  letters  of  Catinat  to  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  she  had  commanded  him  to  keep  them  from 
his  Majesty,  and  to  say  not  a  syllable  about  them. 
Chamillart  added  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  was  not 
far  off,  and  supplicated  the  King  to  ask  her  the  truth  of 
this  matter. 

In  his  turn,  the  King  was  now  more  embarrassed  than 
Chamillart ;  lowering  his  voice,  he  said  that  it  was  incon- 
ceivable how  Madame  de  Maintenon  felt  interested  in  his 
comfort,  and  endeavored  to  keep  from  him  everything 
that  might  vex  him,  and  without  showing  any  more  dis- 
pleasure, turned  to  Marshal  Catinat,  said  he  was  delighted 
with  an  explanation  which  showed  that  nobody  was 
wrong;  addressed  several  gracious  remarks  to  the  Marshal; 
begged  him  to  remain  on  good  terms  with  Chamillart, 
and  hastened  to  quit  them  and  enter  into  his  private 
cabinet. 

Catinat,  more  ashamed  of  what  he  had  just  heard  and 
seen  than  pleased  with  a  justification  so  complete,  paid 
some  compliments  to  Chamillart,  who,  out  of  his  wits  at 
the  perilous  explanation  he  had  given,  received  them, 
and  returned  them  as  well  as  he  could.  They  left  the 
cabinet  soon  after,  and  the  selection  of  Catinat  by  the 
King  for  the  command  of  the  army  of  the  Rhine  was 
declared. 

Reflections  upon  this  affair  present  themselves  of  their 
own  accord.  The  King  verified  what  had  been  said  that 
very  evening  with  Madame  de  Maintenon.  They  were 
only  on  better  terms  than  ever  in  consequence.  She  ap- 
proved of  Chamillart  for  avowing  all;  and  this  minister 
was  only  the  better  treated  afterward  by  the  King  and 
by  Madame  de  Maintenon. 

As  for  Catinat,  he  took  the  command  he  had  been 
called  to,  but  did  not  remain  long  in  it.  The  explanations 
that  had  passed,  all  the  more  dangerous  because  in  his 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  263 

favor,  were  not  of  a  kind  to  prove  otherwise  than  hurt- 
ful to  him.  He  soon  resigned  his  command,  finding  him- 
self too  much  obstructed  to  do  anything,  and  retired  to 
his  house  of  St.  Gratien,  near  St.  Denis,  which  he  scarcely 
ever  left,  and  where  he  saw  only  a  few  private  friends, 
sorry  that  he  had  ever  left  it,  and  that  he  had  listened 
to  the  cajoleries  of  the  King. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

Anecdote  of  Canaples  —  Death  of  the  Due  de  Coislin  —  Anecdotes  of 
His  Unbearable  Politeness  —  Eccentric  Character  —  President  de 
Novion  —  Death  of  M.  de  Lorges  —  Death  of  the  Duchess  de  Gesvres. 

CANAPLES,  brother  of  the  Mare"chal  de  Crequi,  wished 
to  marry  Mademoiselle  de  Vivonne,  who  was  no 
longer  young,  but  was  distinguished  by  talent, 
virtue,  and  high  birth ;  she  had  not  a  penny.  The  Cardi- 
nal de  Coislin,  thinking  Canaples  too  old  to  marry,  told 
him  so.  Canaples  said  he  wanted  to  have  children. 
<(  Children !  "  exclaimed  the  Cardinal.  (<  But  she  is  so 
virtuous !  *  Everybody  burst  out  laughing ;  and  the  more 
willingly,  as  the  Cardinal,  very  pure  in  his  manners,  was 
still  more  so  in  his  language.  His  saying  was  verified 
by  the  event:  the  marriage  proved  sterile. 

The  Due  de  Coislin  died  about  this  time.  I  have  re- 
lated in  its  proper  place  an  adventure  that  happened  to 
him  and  his  brother,  the  Chevalier  de  Coislin:  now  I 
will  say  something  more  of  the  Duke.  He  was  a  very 
little  man,  of  much  humor  and  virtue,  but  of  a  polite- 
ness that  was  unendurable,  and  that  passed  all  bounds, 
though  not  incompatible  with  dignity.  He  had  been 
lieutenant-general  in  the  army.  Upon  one  occasion,  after 
a  battle,  in  which  he  had  taken  part,  one  of  the  Rhin- 
graves,  who  had  been  made  prisoner,  fell  to  his  lot.  The 
Due  de  Coislin  wished  to  give  up  to  the  other  his  bed, 
which  consisted  indeed  of  but  a  mattress.  They  com- 
plimented each  other  so  much,  the  one  pressing,  the 
other  refusing,  that  in  the  end  they  both  slept  upon  the 
ground,  leaving  the  mattress  between  them.  The  Rhin- 
grave  in  due  time  came  to  Paris  and  called  on  the  Due 
de  Coislin.  When  he  was  going,  there  was  such  a  pro- 
fusion of  compliments,  and  the  Duke  insisted  so  much  on 
seeing  him  out,  that  the  Rhingrave,  as  a  last  resource, 
ran  out  of  the  room,  and  double-locked  the  door  outside. 
(264) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE    OF  SAINT-SIMON       265 

M.  de  Coislin  was  not  thus  to  be  oxitdone.  His  apart- 
ments were  only  a  few  feet  above  the  ground.  He 
opened  the  window  accordingly,  leaped  out  into  the  court, 
and  arrived  thus  at  the  entrance  door  before  the  Rhin- 
grave,  who  thought  the  devil  must  have  carried  him 
there.  The  Due  de  Coislin,  however,  had  managed  to 
put  his  thumb  out  of  joint  by  this  leap.  He  called  in 
Felix,  chief  surgeon  of  the  King,  who  soon  put  the 
thumb  to  rights.  Soon  afterward  Felix  made  a  call  upon 
M.  de  Coislin  to  see  how  he  was,  and  found  that  the 
cure  was  perfect.  As  he  was  about  to  leave,  M.  de  Coislin 
must  needs  open  the  door  for  him.  Felix,  with  a  shower 
of  bows,  tried  hard  to  prevent  this,  and  while  they  were 
thus  vying  in  politeness,  each  with  a  hand  upon  the 
door,  the  Duke  suddenly  drew  back ;  he  had  put  his  thumb 
out  of  joint  again,  and  Felix  was  obliged  to  attend  to  it 
on  the  spot!  It  may  be  imagined  what  laughter  this 
story  caused  the  King,  and  everybody  else,  when  it  be- 
came known. 

There  was  no  end  to  the  outrageous  civilities  of  M.  de 
Coislin.  On  returning  from  Fontainebleau  one  day,  we, 
that  is  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  and  myself,  encountered 
M.  de  Coislin  and  his  son,  M.  de  Metz,  on  foot  upon  the 
pavement  of  Ponthierry,  where  their  coach  had  broken 
down.  We  sent  word,  accordingly,  that  we  should  be 
glad  to  accommodate  them  in  ours.  But  message  fol- 
lowed message  on  both  sides ;  and  at  last  I  was  compelled 
to  alight  and  to  walk  through  the  mud/  begging  them 
to  mount  into  my  coach.  M.  de  Coislin,  yielding  to  my 
prayers,  consented  to  this.  M.  de  Metz  was  furious  with 
him  for  his  compliments,  and  at  last  prevailed  on  him. 
When  M.  de  Coislin  had  accepted  my  offer  and  we  had 
nothing  more  to  do  than  to  gain  the  coach,  he  began  to 
capitulate,  and  to  protest  that  he  would  not  displace  the 
two  young  ladies  he  saw  seated  in  the  vehicle.  I  told 
him  that  the  two  young  ladies  were  chambermaids,  who 
could  well  afford  to  wait  until  the  other  carriage  was 
mended,  and  then  continue  their  journey  in  that.  But 
he  would  not  hear  of  this;  and  at  last  all  that  M.  de 
Metz  and  I  could  do  was  to  compromise  the  matter  by 
agreeing  to  take  one  of  the  chambermaids  with  us. 


266  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

When  we  arrived  at  the  coach,  they  both  descended,  in 
order  to  allow  us  to  mount.  During  the  compliments 
that  passed  —  and  they  were  not  short  —  I  told  the  ser- 
vant who  held  the  coach  door  open,  to  close  it  as  soon 
as  I  was  inside,  and  to  order  the  coachman  to  drive  on 
at  once.  This  was  done,  but  M.  de  Coislin  immediately 
began  to  cry  aloud  that  he  would  jump  out  if  we  did 
not  stop  for  the  young  ladies;  and  he  set  himself  to  do 
so  in  such  an  odd  manner,  that  I  had  only  time  to  catch 
hold  of  the  belt  of  his  breeches  and  hold  him  back;  but 
he  still,  with  his  head  hanging  out  of  the  window,  ex- 
claimed that  he  WOULD  leap  out,  and  pulled  against  me. 
At  this  absurdity  I  called  to  the  coachman  to  stop;  the 
Duke  with  difficulty  recovered  himself,  and  persisted  that 
he  would  have  thrown  himself  out.  The  chambermaid 
was  ordered  to  mount,  and  mount  she  did,  all  covered 
with  mud,  which  daubed  us;  and  she  nearly  crushed  M. 
de  Metz  and  me  in  this  carriage  fit  only  for  four. 

M.  de  Coislin  could  not  bear  that  at  parting  anybody 
should  give  him  the  a  last  touch  w ;  a  piece  of  sport,  rarely 
cared  for  except  in  early  youth,  and  out  of  which  arises 
a  chase  by  the  person  touched,  in  order  to  catch  him  by 
whom  he  has  been  touched.  One  evening,  when  the 
Court  was  at  Nancy,  and  just  as  everybody  was  going  to 
bed,  M.  de  Longueville  spoke  a  few  words  in  private  to 
two  of  his  torchbearers,  and  then  touching  the  Due  de 
Coislin,  said  he  had  given  him  the  last  touch,  and  scam- 
pered away,  the  Duke  hotly  pursuing  him.  Once  a  little 
in  advance,  M.  de  Longueville  hid  himself  in  a  doorway, 
allowed  M.  de  Coislin  to  pass  on,  and  then  went  quietly 
home  to  bed.  Meanwhile  the  Duke,  lighted  by  the  torch- 
bearers,  searched  for  M.  de  Longueville  all  over  the 
town,  but  meeting  with  no  success,  was  obliged  to  give 
up  the  chase,  and  went  home  all  in  a  sweat.  He  was 
obliged  of  course  to  laugh  a  good  deal  at  this  joke,  but 
he  evidently  did  not  like  it  over  much. 

With  all  his  politeness,  which  was  in  no  way  put  on, 
M.  de  Coislin  could,  when  he  pleased,  show  a  great  deal 
of  firmness,  and  a  resolution  to  maintain  his  proper 
dignity  worthy  of  much  praise.  At  Nancy,  on  this  same 
occasion,  the  Due  de  Crequi,  not  finding  apartments  pro- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  267 

vided  for  him  to  his  taste  on  arriving-  in  town,  went,  in 
his  brutal  manner,  and  seized  upon  those  allotted  to  the 
Due  de  Coislin.  The  Duke,  arriving  a  moment  after, 
found  his  servants  turned  into  the  street,  and  soon 
learned  who  had  sent  them  there.  M.  de  Crequi  had 
precedence  of  him  in  rank ;  he  said  not  a  word,  therefore, 
but  went  to  the  apartments  provided  for  the  Mare"chal 
de  Crequi  (brother  of  the  other),  served  him  exactly  as 
he  himself  had  just  been  served,  and  took  up  his  quarters 
there.  The  Marechal  de  Crequi  arrived  in  his  turn, 
learned  what  had  occurred,  and  immediately  seized  upon 
the  apartments  of  Cavoye,  in  order  to  teach  him  how  to 
provide  quarters  in  future  so  as  to  avoid  all  disputes. 

On  another  occasion,  M.  de  Coislin  went  to  the  Sor- 
bonne  to  listen  to  a  thesis  sustained  by  the  second  son 
of  M.  de  Bouillon.  When  persons  of  distinction  gave 
these  discourses,  it  was  customary  for  the  princes  of  the 
blood,  and  for  many  of  the  Court,  to  go  and  hear  them. 
M.  de  Coislin  was  at  that  time  almost  last  in  order  of 
precedence  among  the  Dukes.  When  he  took  his  seat, 
therefore,  knowing  that  a  number  of  them  would  prob- 
ably arrive,  he  left  several  rows  of  vacant  places  in  front 
of  him,  and  sat  himself  down.  Immediately  afterward, 
Novion,  Chief  President  of  the  Parliament,  arrived,  and 
seated  himself  in  front  of  M.  de  Coislin.  Astonished  at 
this  act  of  madness,  M.  de  Coislin  said  not  a  word,  but 
took  an  armchair,  and  while  Novion  turned  his  head  to 
speak  to  Cardinal  de  Bouillon,  placed  that  armchair 
right  in  front  of  the  Chief  President,  in  such  a  manner, 
that  he  was  as  it  were  imprisoned,  and  unable  to  stir. 
M.  de  Coislin  then  sat  down.  This  was  done  so  rapidly, 
that  nobody  saw  it  until  it  was  finished.  When  once  it 
was  observed,  a  great  stir  arose.  Cardinal  de  Bouillon 
tried  to  intervene.  M.  de  Coislin  replied,  that  since  the 
Chief  President  had  forgotten  his  position  he  must  be 
taught  it,  and  would  not  budge.  The  other  presidents 
were  in  a  fright,  and  Novion,  enraged  by  the  offense  put 
on  him,  knew  not  what  to  do.  It  was  in  vain  that 
Cardinal  de  Bouillon  on  one  side,  and  his  brother  on  the 
other,  tried  to  persuade  M.  de  Coislin  to  give  way.  He 
would  not  listen  to  them.  They  sent  a  message  to  him 


268  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

to  say  that  somebody  wanted  to  see  him  at  the  door  on 
most  important  business.  But  this  had  no  effect.  (<  There 
is  no  business  so  important, }>  replied  M.  de  Coislin,  "as 
that  of  teaching  M.  le  Premier  President  what  he  owes 
me,  and  nothing  will  make  me  go  from  this  place  unless 
M.  le  President,  whom  you  see  behind  me,  goes  away 
first. » 

At  last  M.  le  Prince  was  sent  for,  and  he  with  much 
persuasion  endeavored  to  induce  M.  de  Coislin  to  release 
the  Chief  President  from  his  prison.  But  for  some  time 
M.  de  Coislin  would  listen  as  little  to  M.  le  Prince  as  he 
had  listened  to  the  others,  and  threatened  to  keep  Novion 
thus  shut  up  during  all  the  thesis.  At  length,  he  con- 
sented to  set  the  Chief  President  free,  but  only  on  condi- 
tion that  he  left  the  building  immediately;  that  M.  le 
Prince  should  guarantee  this;  and  that  no  <( juggling 
tricks*  (that  was  the  term  he  made  use  of),  should  be 
played  off  to  defeat  the  agreement.  M.  le  Prince  at  once 
gave  his  word  that  everything  should  be  as  he  required, 
and  M.  de  Coislin  then  rose,  moved  away  his  armchair, 
and  said  to  the  Chief  President,  <(  Go  away,  sir!  go  away, 
sir ! "  Novion  did  on  the  instant  go  away,  in  the  utmost 
confusion,  and  jumped  into  his  coach.  M.  de  Coislin  there- 
upon took  back  his  chair  to  its  former  position  and 
composed  himself  to  listen  again. 

On  every  side  M.  de  Coislin  was  praised  for  the  firm- 
ness he  had  shown.  The  princes  of  the  blood  called 
upon  him  the  same  evening,  and  complimented  him  for 
the  course  he  had  adopted;  and  so  many  other  visitors 
came  during  the  evening  that  his  house  was  quite  full 
until  a  late  hour.  On  the  morrow  the  King  also  praised 
him  for  his  conduct  and  severely  blamed  the  Chief  Presi- 
dent. Nay  more,  he  commanded  the  latter  to  go  to  M. 
de  Coislin,  at  his  house,  and  beg  pardon  of  him.  It  is 
easy  to  comprehend  the  shame  and  despair  of  Novion  at 
being  ordered  to  take  so  humiliating  a  step,  especially 
after  what  had  already  happened  to  him.  He  prevailed 
upon  M.  de  Coislin,  through  the  medium  of  friends,  to 
spare  him  this  pain,  and  M.  de  Coislin  had  the  generosity 
to  do  so.  He  agreed  therefore  that  when  Novion  called 
upon  him  he  would  pretend  to  be  out,  and  this  was  done. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  269 

The  King,  when  he  heard  of  it,  praised  very  highly  the 
forbearance  of  the  Duke. 

He  was  not  an  old  man  when  he  died,  but  was  eaten 
up  with  the  gout,  which  he  sometimes  had  in  his  eyes,  in 
his  nose,  and  in  his  tongue.  When  in  this  state,  his  room 
was  filled  with  the  best  company.  He  was  very  generally 
liked,  was  truth  itself  in  his  dealings  and  his  words,  and 
was  one  of  my  friends,  as  he  had  been  the  friend  of  my 
father  before  me. 

The  President  de  Novion,  above  alluded  to,  was  a  man 
given  up  to  iniquity,  whom  money  and  obscure  mistresses 
alone  influenced.  Lawyers  complained  of  his  caprices,  and 
pleaders  of  his  injustice.  At  last,  he  went  so  far  as  to 
change  decisions  of  the  Court  when  they  were  given  him 
to  sign,  which  was  not  found  out  for  some  time,  but 
which  led  to  his  disgrace.  He  was  replaced  by  Harlay  in 
1689;  and  lived  in  ignominy  for  four  years  more. 

About  this  time  died  Petit,  a  great  physician,  who  had 
wit,  knowledge,  experience,  and  probity;  and  yet  lived 
to  the  last  without  being  ever  brought  to  admit  the  cir- 
culation of  the  blood. 

A  rather  strange  novelty  was  observed  at  Fontaine- 
bleau:  Madame  publicly  at  the  play,  in  the  second  year 
of  her  mourning  for  Monsieur!  She  made  some  objec- 
tions at  first,  but  the  King  persuaded  her,  saying  that 
what  took  place  in  his  palace  ought  not  to  be  considered 
as  public. 

On  Saturday,  the  22d  of  October  of  this  year  (1702), 
at  about  ten  in  the  morning,  I  had  the  misfortune  to 
lose  my  father-in-law,  the  Mare"chal  de  Lorges,  who  died 
from  the  effects  of  an  unskillful  operation  performed  upon 
him  for  the  stone.  He  had  been  brought  up  as  a  Prot- 
estant, and  had  practiced  that  religion.  But  he  had 
consulted  on  the  one  hand  with  Bossuet,  and  on  the 
other  hand  with  M.  Claude  (Protestant),  minister  of 
Charenton,  without  acquainting  them  that  he  was  thus 
in  communication  with  both.  In  the  end  the  arguments 
of  Bossuet  so  convinced  him  that  he  lost  from  that  time 
all  his  doubts,  became  steadfastly  attached  to  the  Cath- 
olic religion,  and  strove  hard  to  convert  to  it  all  the 
Protestants  with  whom  he  spoke.  M.  de  Turenne,  with 


270  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

whom  he  was  intimately  allied,  was  in  a  similar  state  of 
mind,  and,  singularly  enough,  his  doubts  were  resolved 
at  the  same  time,  and  in  exactly  the  same  manner,  as 
those  of  M.  de  Lorges.  The  joy  of  the  two  friends,  who 
had  both  feared  they  should  be  estranged  from  each 
other  when  they  announced  their  conversion,  was  very 
great.  The  Comtesse  de  Roye,  sister  to  M.  de  Lorges, 
was  sorely  affected  at  this  change,  and  she  would  not 
consent  to  see  him  except  on  condition  that  he  never 
spoke  of  it. 

M.  de  Lorges  commanded  with  great  distinction  in 
Holland  and  elsewhere,  and  at  the  death  of  M.  de  Turenne, 
took  for  the  time,  and  with  great  honor,  his  place.  He 
was  made  Mare"chal  of  France  on  the  2ist  of  February, 
1676,  not  before  he  had  fairly  won  that  distinction.  The 
remainder  of  his  career  showed  his  capacity  in  many 
ways,  and  acquired  for  him  the  esteem  of  all.  His  fam- 
ily were  affected  beyond  measure  at  his  loss.  That 
house  was  in  truth  terrible  to  see.  Never  was  man  so 
tenderly  or  so  universally  regretted,  or  so  worthy  of  be- 
ing so.  Besides  my  own  grief,  I  had  to  sustain  that  of 
Madame  de  Saint-Simon,  whom  many  times  I  thought  I 
should  lose.  Nothing  was  comparable  to  the  attachment 
she  had  for  her  father,  or  the  tenderness  he  had  for  her ; 
nothing  more  perfectly  alike  than  their  hearts  and  their 
dispositions.  As  for  me,  I  loved  him  as  a  father,  and 
he  loved  me  as  a  son,  with  the  most  entire  and  sweet- 
est confidence. 

About  the  same  time  died  the  Duchess  de  Gesvres,  sepa- 
rated from  a  husband  who  had  been  the  scourge  of  his 
family,  and  had  dissipated  millions  of  her  fortune.  She 
was  a  sort  of  witch,  tall  and  lean,  who  walked  like  an 
ostrich.  She  sometimes  came  to  Court,  with  the  odd  look 
and  famished  expression  to  which  her  husband  had 
brought  her.  Virtue,  wit,  and  dignity  .distinguished  her. 
I  remember  that  one  summer  the  King  took  to  going 
very  often  in  the  evening  to  Trianon,  and  that  once  for 
all  he  gave  permission  to  all  the  Court,  men  and  women, 
to  follow  him.  There  was  a  grand  collation  for  the 
Princesses,  his  daughters,  who  took  their  friends  there, 
and  indeed  all  the  women  went  to  it  if  they  pleased. 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  271 

One  day  the  Duchess  de  Gesvres  took  it  into  her  head  to 
go  to  Trianon  and  partake  of  this  meal;  her  age,  her 
rarity  at  Court,  her  accouterments,  and  her  face,  pro- 
voked the  Princesses  to  make  fun  of  her  in  whispers  with 
their  fair  visitors.  She  perceived  this,  and  without  being 
embarrassed,  took  them  up  so  sharply,  that  they  were 
silenced  and  looked  down.  But  this  was  not  all:  after 
the  collation  she  began  to  talk  so  freely  and  yet  so 
humorously  about  them  that  they  were  frightened,  and 
went  and  made  their  excuses  and  very  frankly  asked  for 
quarter.  Madame  de  Gesvres  was  good  enough  to  grant  them 
this,  but  said  it  was  only  on  condition  that  they  learned 
how  to  behave.  Never  afterward  did  they  venture  to 
look  at  her  impertinently.  Nothing  was  ever  so  magnifi- 
cent as  these  soirees  of  Trianon.  All  the  flowers  of  the 
parterres  were  renewed  every  day;  and  I  have  seen  the 
King  and  all  the  Court  obliged  to  go  away  because  of 
the  tuberoses,  the  odor  of  which  perfumed  the  air,  but 
so  powerfully  on  account  of  their  quantity,  that  nobody 
c6uld  remain  in  the  garden  although  very  vast,  and  stretch- 
ing like  a  terrace  all  along  the  canal. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

The  Prince  d'Harcourt — His  Character,  and  that  of  His  Wife  —  Odd 
Court  Lady  —  She  Cheats  at  Play — Scene  at  Fontainebleau  —  Crack- 
ers at  Marly  —  Snowballing  a  Princess  —  Strange  Manners  of  Madame 
d'Harcourt  —  Rebellion  Among  Her  Servants — A  Vigorous  Cham- 
bermaid. 

THE  Prince  d'Harcourt  at  last  obtained  permission  to 
wait  on  the-  King,  after  having  never  appeared  at 

Court  for  seventeen  years  He  had  followed  the 
King  in  all  his  conquests  in  the  Low  Countries  and 
Franche-Comte" ;  but  he  had  remained  little  at  the  Court 
since  his  voyage  to  Spain,  whither  he  had  accompanied 
the  daughter  of  Monsieur  to  the  King,  Charles  II.,  her 
husband.  The  Prince  d'Harcourt  took  service  with  Venice, 
and  fought  in  the  Morea  until  the  Republic  made  peace 
with  the  Turks.  He  was  tall,  well  made;  and,  although 
he  looked  like  a  nobleman  and  had  wit,  reminded  one  at 
the  same  time  of  a  country  actor.  He  was  a  great  liar, 
and  a  libertine  in  body  and  mind;  a  great  spendthrift,  a 
great  and  impudent  swindler,  with  a  tendency  to  low  de- 
bauchery, that  cursed  him  all  his  life.  Having  fluttered 
about  a  long  time  after  his  return,  and  found  it  im- 
possible either  to  live  with  his  wife  —  which  is  not  sur- 
prising—  or  accommodate  himself  to  the  Court  or  to 
Paris,  he  set  up  his  rest  at  Lyons  with  wine,  street  walk- 
ers, a  society  to  match,  a  pack  of  hounds,  and  a  gaming- 
table to  support  his  extravagance  and  enable  him  to  live 
at  the  expense  of  the  dupes,  the  imbeciles,  and  the  sons 
of  fat  tradesmen,  whom  he  could  lure  into  his  nets.  Thus 
he  spent  many  years,  and  seemed  to  forget  that  there 
existed  in  the  world  another  country  besides  Lyons.  At 
last  he  got  tired,  and  returned  to  Paris.  The  King,  who 
despised  him,  let  him  alone,  but  would  not  see  him ;  and 
it  was  only  after  two  months  of  begging  for  him  by  the 
Lorraines,  that  he  received  permission  to  present  himself. 

(272) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON       273 

His  wife,  the  Princess  d'Harcourt,  was  a  favorite  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon.  The  origin  of  their  friendship  is 
traced  to  the  fact  that  Brancas,  the  father  of  the  Princess, 
had  been  one  of  the  lovers  of  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
No  claim  less  powerful  could  have  induced  the  latter  to 
take  into  her  favor  a  person  who  was  so  little  worthy. 
Like  all  women  who  know  nothing  but  what  chance  has 
taught  them,  and  who  have  long  languished  in  obscurity 
before  arriving  at  splendor,  Madame  de  Maintenon  was 
dazzled  by  the  very  name  of  Princess,  even  if  assumed: 
as  to  a  real  Princess,  nothing  equalled  her  in  her  opinion. 
The  Princess  then  tried  hard  to  get  the  Prince  invited 
to  Marly,  but  without  success.  Upon  this  she  pretended 
to  sulk,  in  hopes  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  would  exert 
all  her  influence;  but  in  this  she  was  mistaken.  The 
Prince  accordingly  by  degrees  got  disgusted  with  the 
Court,  and  retired  into  the  provinces  for  a  time. 

The  Princess  d'Harcourt  was  a  sort  of  personage  whom 
it  is  good  to  make  known,  in  order  better  to  lay  bare  a 
Court  which  did  not  scruple  to  receive  such  as  she. 
She  had  once  been  beautiful  and  gay;  but  though  not 
old,  all  her  grace  and  beauty  had  vanished.  The  rose 
had  become  an  ugly  thorn.  At  the  time  I  speak  of  she 
was  a  tall,  fat  creature,  mightily  brisk  in  her  movements, 
with  a  complexion  like  milk  porridge;  great,  ugly,  thick 
lips,  and  hair  like  tow,  always  sticking  out  and  hanging 
down  in  disorder,  like  all  the  rest  of  her  fittings  out. 
Dirty,  slatternly,  always  intriguing,  pretending,  enterpris- 
ing, quarreling  —  always  low  as  the  grass  or  high  as 
the  rainbow,  according  to  the  person  with  whom  she  had 
to  deal:  she  was  a  blonde  Fury,  nay  more,  a  harpy:  she 
had  all  the  effrontery  of  one,  and  the  deceit  and  violence: 
all  the  avarice  and  the  audacity;  moreover,  all  the  glut- 
tony, and  all  the  promptitude  to  relieve  herself  from  the 
effects  thereof;  so  that  she  drove  out  of  their  wits  those 
at  whose  house  she  dined;  was  often  a  victim  of  her  con- 
fidence; and  was  many  a  time  sent  to  the  devil  by  the 
servants  of  M.  du  Maine  and  M.  le  Grand.  She,  how- 
ever, was  never  in  the  least  embarrassed,  tucked  up  her 
petticoats  and  went  her  way;  then  returned  saying  she 
had  been  unwell.  People  were  accustomed  to  it. 
18 


274  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

Whenever  money  was  to  be  made  by  scheming  and 
bribery,  she  was  there  to  make  it.  At  play  she  always 
cheated,  and  if  found  out  stormed  and  raged;  but 
pocketed  what  she  had  won.  People  looked  upon  her  as 
they  would  have  looked  upon  a  fish-fag,  and  did  not  like 
to  commit  themselves  by  quarreling  with  her.  At  the 
end  of  every  game  she  used  to  say  that  she  gave  what- 
ever might  have  been  unfairly  gained  to  those  who  had 
gained  it,  and  hoped  that  others  would  do  likewise.  For 
she  was  very  devout  by  profession,  and  thought  by  so 
doing  to  put  her  conscience  in  safety;  because,  she  used 
to  add,  in  play  there  is  always  some  mistake.  She  went 
to  church  always,  and  constantly  took  the  Sacrament, 
very  often  after  having  played  until  four  o'clock  in  the 
morning. 

One  day,  when  there  was  a  grand  f$te  at  Fontaine- 
bleau,  Madame  la  Mare'chale  de  Villeroy  persuaded  her, 
out  of  malice,  to  sit  down  and  play,  instead  of  going  to 
evening  prayers.  She  resisted  some  time,  saying  that 
Madame  de  Maintenon  was  going;  but  the  Mare'chale 
laughed  at  her  for  believing  that  her  patron  could  see  who 
was  and  who  was  not  at  the  chapel :  so  down  they  sat  to  play. 
When  the  prayers  were  over,  Madame  de  Maintenon,  by 
the  merest  accident  —  for  she  scarcely  ever  visited  any 
one  —  went  to  the  apartments  of  the  Mare'chale  de  Ville- 
roy. The  door  was  flung  back,  and  she  was  announced. 
This  was  a  thunderbolt  for  the  Princess  d'Harcourt.  v  I 
am  ruined,*  cried  she,  unable  to  restrain  herself;  (<she 
will  see  me  playing,  and  I  ought  to  have  been  at 
chapel ! "  Down  fell  the  cards  from  her  hands,  and  down 
fell  she  all  abroad  in  her  chair.  The  Mare'chale  laughed 
most  heartily  at  so  complete  an  adventure.  Madame  de 
Maintenon  entered  slowly,  and  found  the  Princess  in  this 
state,  with  five  or  six  persons.  The  Mare'chale  de  Ville- 
roy, who  was  full  of  wit,  began  to  say  that,  while  doing 
her  a  great  honor,  Madame  was  the  cause  of  great  dis- 
order; and  showed  her  the  Princess  d'Harcourt  in  her 
state  of  discomfiture.  Madame  de  Maintenon  smiled  with 
majestic  kindness,  and  addressing  the  Princess  d'Harcourt, 
"  Is  this  the  way,M  said  she,  w  that  you  go  to  prayers  ?w 
Thereupon  the  Princess  flew  out  of  her  half  faint  into  a 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  275 

sort  of  fury;  said  that  this  was  the  kind  of  trick  that 
was  played  off  upon  her;  that  no  doubt  the  Mare*chale 
knew  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  was  coming,  and  for 
that  reason  had  persecuted  her  to  play.  (<  Persecuted !  * 
exclaimed  the  Marechale,  (<  I  thought  I  could  not  receive 
you  better  than  by  proposing  a  game ;  it  is  true  you  were 
for  a  moment  troubled  at  missing  the  chapel,  but  your 
tastes  carried  the  day.  This,  Madame,  is  my  whole 
crime,0  continued  she,  addressing  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non. Upon  this,  everybody  laughed  louder  than  before. 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  in  order  to  stop  the  quarrel, 
commanded  them  both  to  continue  their  game ;  and  they 
continued  accordingly,  the  Princess  d'Harcourt,  still 
grumbling,  quite  beside  herself,  blinded  with  fury,  so  as 
to  commit  fresh  mistakes  every  minute.  So  ridiculous 
an  adventure  diverted  the  Court  for  several  days;  for 
this  beautiful  Princess  was  equally  feared,  hated,  and 
despised. 

Monseigneur  le  Due  and  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bour- 
gogne  continually  played  off  pranks  upon  her.  They 
put,  one  day,  crackers  all  along  the  avenue  of  the  cha- 
teau at  Marly,  that  led  to  the  Perspective  where  she 
lodged.  She  was  horribly  afraid  of  everything.  The 
Duke  and  Duchess  bribed  two  porters  to  be  ready  to 
take  her  into  the  mischief.  When  she  was  right  in  the 
middle  of  the  avenue  the  crackers  began  to  go  off,  and 
she  to  cry  aloud  for  mercy;  the  chairman  set  her  down 
and  ran  for  it.  There  she  was,  then,  struggling  in  her 
chair,  furiously  enough  to  upset  it,  and  yelling  like  a 
demon.  At  this  the  company,  which  had  gathered  at  the 
door  of  the  chateau  to  see  the  fun,  ran  to  her  assistance, 
in  order  to  have  the  pleasure  of  enjoying  the  scene  more 
fully.  Thereupon  she  set  to  abusing  everybody  right  and 
left,  commencing  with  Monseigneur  and  Madame  la 
Duchess  de  Bourgogne.  At  another  time  M.  de  Bour- 
gogne  put  a  cracker  under  her  chair  in  the  salon^  where 
she  was  playing  at  piquet.  As  he  was  about  to  set  fire 
to  this  cracker,  some  charitable  soul  warned  him  that  it 
would  maim  her,  and  he  desisted. 

Sometimes  they  used  to  send  about  twenty  Swiss 
guards,  with  drums,  into  her  chamber,  who  roused  her 


276  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

from  her  first  sleep  by  their  horrid  din.  Another  time 
—  and  these  scenes  were  always  at  Marly  —  they  waited 
until  very  late  for  her  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep.  She 
lodged  not  far  from  the  post  of  the  captain  of  the 
guards,  who  was  at  that  time  the  Mare"chal  de  Lorges. 
It  had  snowed  very  hard  and  had  frozen.  Madame  la 
Duchess  de  Bourgogne  and  her  suite  gathered  snow  from 
the  terrace  which  is  on  a  level  with  their  lodgings ;  and,  in 
order  to  be  better  supplied,  waked  up  to  assist  them  the 
Mare"chal's  people,  who  did  not  let  them  want  for  ammuni- 
tion. Then,  with  a  false  key,  and  lights,  they  gently  slipped 
into  the  chamber  of  the  Princess  d'Harcourt;  and  sud- 
denly drawing  the  curtains  of  her  bed,  pelted  her  amain 
with  snowballs.  The  filthy  creature,  waking  up  with  a 
start,  bruised  and  stifled  in  snow,  with  which  even  her 
ears  were  filled,  with  disheveled  hair,  yelling  at  the  top 
of  her  voice,  and  wriggling  like  an  eel,  without  knowing 
where  to  hide,  formed  a  spectacle  that  diverted  people 
more  than  half  an  hour:  so  that  at  last  the  nymph  swam 
in  her  bed,  from  which  the  water  flowed  everywhere, 
slushing  all  the  chamber.  It  was  enough  to  make  one 
die  of  laughter.  On  the  morrow  she  sulked,  and  was 
more  than  ever  laughed  at  for  her  pains. 

Her  fits  of  sulkiness  came  over  her  either  when  the 
tricks  played  were  too  violent,  or  when  M.  le  Grand 
abused  her.  He  thought,  very  properly,  that  a  person 
who  bore  the  name  of  Lorraine,  should  not  put  herself 
so  much  on  the  footing  of  a  buffoon;  and,  as  he  was  a 
rough  speaker,  he  sometimes  said  the  most  abominable 
things  to  her  at  table;  upon  which  the  Princess  would 
burst  out  crying,  and  then,  being  enraged,  would  sulk. 
The  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  used  then  to  pretend  to 
sulk,  too;  but  the  other  did  not  hold  out  long,  and  came 
crawling  back  to  her,  crying,  begging  pardon  for  having 
sulked,  and  praying  that  she  might  not  cease  to  be  a 
source  of  amusement!  After  some  time  the  Duchess 
would  allow  herself  to  be  melted,  and  the  Princess  was 
more  villainously  treated  than  ever,  for  the  Duchess  de 
Bourgogne  had  her  own  way  in  everything.  Neither  the 
King  nor  Madame  de  Maintenon  found  fault  with  what 
she  did,  so  that  the  Princess  d'Harcourt  had  no  resource; 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  277 

she  did  not  even  dare  to  complain  of  those  who  aided  in 
tormenting  her;  yet  it  would  not  have  been  prudent  in 
anyone  to  make  her  an  enemy. 

The  Princess  d'Harcourt  paid  her  servants  so  badly, 
that  they  concocted  a  plan,  and  one  fine  day  drew  up 
on  the  Pont  Neuf.  The  coachmen  and  footmen  got  down, 
and  came  and  spoke  to  her  at  the  door,  in  language  she 
was  not  used  to  hear.  Her  ladies  and  chambermaid  got 
down,  and  went  away,  leaving  her  to  shift  as  she  might. 
Upon  this  she  set  herself  to  harangue  the  blackguards 
who  collected,  and  was  only  too  happy  to  find  a  man,  who 
mounted  upon  the  seat  and  drove  her  home.  Another 
time,  Madame  de  Saint-Simon,  returning  from  Versailles, 
overtook  her,  walking  in  full  dress  in  the  street,  and 
with  her  train  under  her  arms.  Madame  de  Saint-Simon 
stopped,  offered  her  assistance,  and  found  that  she  had 
been  left  by  her  servants,  as  on  the  Pont  Neuf.  It  was 
volume  the  second  of  that  story;  and  even  when  she 
came  back  she  found  her  house  deserted,  everyone  hav- 
ing gone  away  at  once  by  agreement.  She  was  very 
violent  with  her  servants,  beat  them,  and  changed  them 
every  day. 

Upon  one  occasion,  she  took  into  her  service  a  strong 
and  robust  chambermaid,  to  whom,  from  the  first  day  of 
her  arrival,  she  gave  many  slaps  and  boxes  on  the  ear. 
The  chambermaid  said  nothing,  but  after  submitting  to 
this  treatment  for  five  or  six  days,-  conferred  with  the 
other  servants;  and  one  morning,  while  in  her  mistress's 
room,  locked  the  door  without  being  perceived,  said  some- 
thing to  bring  down  punishment  upon  her,  and  at  the 
first  box  on  the  ear  she  received,  flew  upon  the  Princess 
d'Harcourt,  gave  her  no  end  of  thumps  and  slaps, 
knocked  her  down,  kicked  her,  mauled  her  from  her  head 
to  her  feet,  and  when  she  was  tired  of  this  exercise, 
left  her  on  the  ground,  all  torn  and  disheveled,  howling1 
like  a  devil.  The  chambermaid  then  quitted  the  room, 
double-locked  the  door  on  the  outside,  gained  the  stair- 
case, and  fled  the  hotise. 

Every  day  the  Princess  was  fighting,  or  mixed  up  in 
some  adventures.  Her  neighbors  at  Marly  said  they 
could  not  sleep  for  the  riot  she  made  at  night;  and  I 


278      MEMOIRS  OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

remember  that,  after  one  of  these  scenes,  everybody 
went  to  see  the  room  of  the  Duchess  de  Villeroy  and 
that  of  Madame  d'Espinoy,  who  had  put  their  bed  in  the 
middle  of  their  room,  and  who  related  their  night  vigils 
to  every  one. 

Such  was  this  favorite  of  Madame  de  Maintenon;  so 
insolent  and  so  insupportable  to  every  one,  but  who  had 
favors  and  preferences  for  those  who  brought  her  over, 
and  who  had  raised  so  many  young  men,  amassed  their 
wealth  and  made  herself  feared  even  by  the  Prince  and 
minister. 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

Madame  des  Ursins  —  Her  Marriage  and  Character  —  The  Queen  of 
Spain  —  Ambition  of  Madame  de  Maintenon — Coronation  of  Philip 
V. — A  Cardinal  made  Colonel  —  Favorites  of  Madame  des  Ursins  — 
Her  Complete  Triumph  —  A  Mistake  —  A  Dispatch  Violated  —  Ma- 
dame des  Ursins  in  Disgrace. 

IN  A  previous   page    I   have    alluded  to  the  Princess  des 
Ursins,  when  she  was  appointed  Camerera    Mayor  to 
the  Queen  of  Spain  on  her  marriage.     As  I  have  now 
to  occupy  myself  more  particularly    with    her,  it  may  be 
as  well  to  give  a  description  of  this  extraordinary  woman, 
which  I  omitted  when  I  first  spoke  of  her. 

Anna  Marie  de  la  Tre'moille,  was  daughter  of  M.  de 
Noirmoutiers,  who  figured  sufficiently  in  the  troubles  of 
the  minority  to  be  made  a  Duke  a  brevet.  She  first  mar- 
ried M.  Talleyrand,  who  called  himself  Prince  de  Chalais, 
and  who  was  obliged  to  quit  the  kingdom  for  engaging 
in  the  famous  duel  against  Messieurs  de  la  Frette.  She 
followed  her  husband  to  Spain,  where  he  died.  Having 
gone  to  Rome,  she  got  into  favor  with  the  Cardinals  de 
Bouillon  and  d'Estre"es,  first  on  account  of  her  name  and 
nation,  and  afterward  for  more  tender  reasons.  In  order 
to  detain  her  at  Rome,  these  dignitaries  thought  of  ob- 
taining her  an  establishment.  She  had  no  children,  and 
almost  no  fortune,  they  wrote  to  Court  that  so  important 
a  man  as  the  Due  de  Bracciano,  Prince  des  Ursins,  was 
worth  gaining;  and  that  the  way  to  arrive  at  this  result  was 
to  have  him  married  to  Madame  de  Chalais.  The  Duke 
was  persuaded  by  the  two  Cardinals  that  he  was  in  love 
with  Madame  de  Chalais:  and  so  the  affair  was  arranged. 
Madame  des  Ursins  displayed  all  her  wit  and  charms  at 
Rome ;  and  soon  her  palace  became  a  sort  of  court,  where 
all  the  best  company  assembled.  It  grew  to  be  the  fash- 
ion to  go  there.  The  husband  amidst  all  this  counts 
for  not  much.  There  was  sometimes  a  little  disagree- 
ment between  the  two,  without  open  rupture:  yet  they 

(279) 


280  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

were  now  and  then  glad  to  separate.  This  is  why  the 
Duchess  de  Bracciano  made  two  journeys  to  France:  the 
second  time  she  spent  four  or  five  years  there.  It  was 
then  I  knew  her,  or  rather  formed  a  particular  friend- 
ship with  her.  My  mother  had  made  her  acquaintance 
during  her  previous  visit.  She  lodged  near  us.  Her 
wit,  her  grace,  her  manners  enchanted  me :  she  received 
me  with  tenderness  and  I  was  always  at  her  house.  It 
was  she  who  proposed  to  me  a  marriage  with  Mile,  de 
Royan,  which  I  rejected  for  the  reason  already  given. 

When  Madame  des  Ursins  was  appointed  Camerera 
Mayor,  she  was  a  widow,  without  children.  No  one  could 
have  been  better  suited  for  the  post.  A  lady  of  our  Court 
would  not  have  done:  a  Spanish  lady  was  not  to  be  de- 
pended on,  and  might  have  easily  disgusted  the  Queen. 
The  Princess  des  Ursins  appeared  to  be  a  middle  term. 
She  was  French,  had  been  in  Spain,  and  she  passed 
a  great  part  of  her  life  at  Rome  and  in  Italy.  She  was 
of  the  house  of  La  Tre*moille:  her  husband  was  chief  of 
the  house  of  Ursins,  a  grandee  of  Spain,  and  prince  of 
the  Soglio.  She  was  also  on  very  good  terms  with  the 
Duchess  of  Savoy,  and  with  the  Queen  of  Portugal.  The 
Cardinal  d'Estre'es,  also,  was  known  to  have  remained 
her  friend,  after  having  been  something  more  in  their 
youth;  and  he  gave  information  that  the  Cardinal  Porto- 
carrero  had  been  much  in  love  with  her  at  Rome,  and 
that  they  were  then  on  very  good  terms.  As  it  was 
through  the  latter  cardinal  that  it  was  necessary  to  gov- 
ern everything,  this  circumstance  was  considered  very 
important. 

Age  and  health  were  also  appropriate ;  and  likewise  her 
appearance.  She  was  rather  tall  than  otherwise,  a  bru- 
nette, with  blue  eyes  of  the  most  varied  expression,  in 
figure  perfect,  with  a  most  exquisite  bosom;  her  face, 
without  being  beautiful,  was  charming;  she  was  extremely 
noble  in  air,  very  majestic  in  demeanor,  full  of  graces 
so  natural  and  so  continual  in  everything,  that  I  have 
never  seen  anyone  approach  her,  either  in  form  or  mind. 
Her  wit  was  copious  and  of  all  kinds:  she  was  flattering, 
caressing,  insinuating,  moderate,  wishing  to  please  for 
pleasing  sake,  with  charms  irresistible  when  she  strove 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  281 

.to  persuade  and  win  over;  accompanying  all  this,  she 
had  a  grandeur  that  encouraged  instead  of  frightening; 
a  delicious  conversation,  inexhaustible  and  very  amusing, 
for  she  had  seen  many  countries  and  persons;  a  voice 
and  way  of  speaking  extremely  agreeable,  and  full  of 
sweetness.  She  had  read  much,  and  reflected  much. 
She  knew  how  to  choose  the  best  society,  how  to  receive 
them,  and  could  even  have  held  a  Court ;  was  polite,  dis- 
tinguished; and  above  all  was  careful  never  to  take  a 
step  in  advance  without  dignity  and  discretion.  She  was 
eminently  fitted  for  intrigue,  in  which,  from  taste,  she 
had  passed  her  time  at  Rome;  with  much  ambition,  but 
of  that  vast  kind,  far  above  her  sex,  and  the  common 
run  of  men  —  a  desire  to  occupy  a  great  position  and  to 
govern.  A  love  for  gallantry  and  personal  vanity  were 
her  foibles,  and  these  clung  to  her  until  her  latest  day; 
consequently,  she  dressed  in  a  way  that  no  longer  be- 
came her,  and  as  she  advanced  in  life,  removed  further 
from  propriety  in  this  particular.  She  was  an  ardent  and 
excellent  friend  —  of  a  friendship  that  time  and  absence 
never  enfeebled;  and,  consequently,  an  implacable  enemy, 
pursuing  her  hatred  to  the  infernal  regions.  While  caring 
little  for  the  means  by  which  she  gained  her  ends,  she 
tried  as  much  as  possible  to  reach  them  by  honest  means. 
Secret,  not  only  for  herself,  but  for  her  friends,  she  was 
yet  of  a  decorous  gaiety,  and  so  governed  her  humors, 
that  at  all  times  and  in  everything  she  was  mistress  of 
herself.  Such  was  the  Princess  des  Ursins. 

From  the  first  moment  on  which  she  entered  the  serv- 
ice of  the  Queen  of  Spain,  it  became  her  desire  to 
govern  not  only  the  Queen,  but  the  King;  and  by  this 
means  the  realm  itself.  Such  a  grand  project  had  need 
of  support  from  our  King,  who,  at  the  commencement, 
ruled  the  Court  of  Spain  as  much  as  his  own  Court,  with 
entire  influence  over  all  matters. 

The  young  Queen  of  Spain  had  been  not  less  carefully 
educated  than  her  sister,  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne.  She 
had  even  when  so  young  much  intelligence  and  firmness, 
without  being  incapable  of  restraint;  and  as  time  went 
on,  improved  still  further,  and  displayed  a  constancy  and 
courage  which  were  admirably  set  off  by  her  meekness 


282  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

and  natural  graces.  According  to  everything  I  have 
heard  said  in  France  and  in  Spain,  she  possessed  all  qual- 
ities that  were  necessary  to  make  her  adored.  Indeed 
she  became  a  divinity  among  the  Spaniards,  and  to  their 
affection  for  her,  Philip  V.  was  more  than  once  indebted 
for  his  crown.  Lords,  ladies,  soldiers,  and  the  people 
still  remember  her  with  tears  in  their  eyes;  and  even 
after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  are  not  yet  consoled 
for  her  loss. 

Madame  des  Ursins  soon  managed  to  obtain  the  entire 
confidence  of  this  Queen;  and  during  the  absence  of 
Philip  V.  in  Italy,  assisted  her  in  the  administration  of 
all  public  offices.  She  even  accompanied  her  to  the  Junta, 
it  not  being  thought  proper  that  the  Queen  should  be 
alone  amid  such  an  assemblage  of  men.  In  this  way  she 
became  acquainted  with  everything  that  was  passing,  and 
knew  all  the  affairs  of  the  Government. 

This  step  gained,  it  will  be  imagined  that  the  Princess 
des  Ursins  did  not  forget  to  pay  her  court  most  assidu- 
ously to  our  King  and  to  Madame  de  Maintenon.  She 
continually  sent  them  an  exact  account  of  everything 
relating  to  the  Queen  —  making  her  appear  in  the  most 
favorable  light  possible.  Little  by  little  she  introduced  into 
her  letters  details  respecting  public  events,  without,  how- 
ever, conveying  a  suspicion  of  her  own  ambition,  or  that 
she  wished  to  meddle  in  these  matters.  Anchored  in 
this  way,  she  next  began  to  flatter  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  and  by  degrees  to  hint  that  she  might  rule  over 
Spain,  even  more  firmly  than  she  ruled  over  France,  if 
she  would  intrust  her  commands  to  Madame  des  Ursins. 
Madame  des  Ursins  offered,  in  fact,  to  be  the  instru- 
ment of  Madame  de  Maintenon;  representing  how  much 
better  it  would  be  to  rule  affairs  in  this  manner,  than 
through  the  instrumentality  of  the  ministers  of  either 
country. 

Madame  de  Maintenon,  whose  passion  it  was  to  know 
everything,  to  mix  herself  in  everything,  and  to  govern 
everything,  was  enchanted  by  the  siren.  This  method 
of  governing  Spain  without  ministers  appeared  to  her 
an  admirable  idea.  She  embraced  it  with  avidity,  with- 
out reflecting  that  she  would  govern  only  in  appearance, 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  283 

since  she  would  know  nothing  except  through  the  Princess 
des  Ursins,  see  nothing  except  in  the  light  in  which  she 
presented  it.  From  that  time  dates  the  intimate  union 
which  existed  between  these  two  important  women,  the 
unbounded  authority  of  Madame  des  Ursins,  the  fall  of 
all  those  who  had  placed  Philip  V.  upon  the  throne,  and 
of  all  our  ministers  in  Spain  who  stood  in  the  way  of 
the  new  power. 

Such  an  alliance  being  made  between  the  two  women, 
it  was  necessary  to  draw  the  King  of  Spain  into  the 
same  net.  This  was  not  a  very  arduous  task.  Nature 
and  art  indeed  had  combined  to  make  it  easy.  Younger 
brother  of  an  excitable,  violent,  and  robust  Prince,  Philip 
V.  had  been  bred  up  in  a  submission  and  dependence 
that  were  necessary  for  the  repose  of  the  Royal  family. 
Until  the  testament  of  Charles  II.,  the  Due  d'Anjou  was 
necessarily  regarded  as  destined  to  be  a  subject  all  his 
life;  and  therefore  could  not  be  too  much  abased  by 
education,  and  trained  to  patience  and  obedience.  That 
supreme  law,  the  reason  of  state,  demanded  this  prefer- 
ence, for  the  safety  and  happiness  of  the  kingdom,  of 
the  elder  over  the  younger  brother.  His  mind  for  this 
reason  was  purposely  narrowed  and  beaten  down,  and 
his  natural  docility  and  gentleness  greatly  assisted  in  the 
process.  He  was  quite  formed  to  be  led,  although  he 
had  enough  judgment  left  to  choose  the  better  of  two 
courses  proposed  to  him,  and  even  to  express  himself  in 
good  phrase,  when  the  slowness,  not  to  say  the  laziness 
of  his  mind  did  not  prevent  him  from  speaking  at  all. 
His  great  piety  contributed  to  weaken  his  mind;  and, 
being  joined  to  very  lively  passions,  made  it  disagreeable 
and  even  dangerous  for  him  to  be  separated  from  his 
Queen.  It  may  easily  be  conceived,  therefore,  how  he 
loved  her,  and  that  he  allowed  himself  to  be  guided  by 
her  in  all  things.  As  the  Queen  herself  was  guided  in 
all  things  by  Madame  des  Ursins,  the  influence  of  this 
latter  was  all-powerful. 

Soon,  indeed,  the  Junta  became  a  mere  show.  Every- 
thing was  brought  before  the  King  in  private,  and  he 
gave  no  decision  until  the  Queen  and  Madame  des  Ursins 
had  passed  theirs.  This  conduct  met  with  no  opposition 


284  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

from  our  Court,  but  our  ministers  at  the  Court  of  Spain 
and  the  Spanish  ministers  here  soon  began  to  complain 
of  it.  The  first  to  do  so  were  Cardinals  d'Estre"es  and 
Portocarrero.  Madame  de  Maintenon  laughed  at  them, 
and  Madame  des  Ursins,  of  whom  they  were  old  friends, 
soon  showed  them  that  she  did  not  mean  to  abate  one 
jot  of  her  power.  She  first  endeavored  to  bring  about  a 
coldness  between  the  two,  and  this  succeeded  so  well, 
that  in  consequence  of  the  quarrels  that  resulted,  the 
Spanish  Cardinal,  Portocarrero  (who,  it  will  be  remem- 
bered, had  played  an  important  part  in  bringing  Philip 
to  the  Spanish  throne)  wished  to  quit  the  Junta.  But 
Madame  des  Ursins,  who  thought  that  the  time  had  not  yet 
arrived  for  this  step,  persuaded  him  to  remain,  and  en- 
deavored to  flatter  his  vanity  by  an  expedient  altogether 
ridiculous.  She  gave  him  the  command  of  a  regiment 
of  guards,  and  he,  priest,  archbishop,  primate,  and  car- 
dinal, accepted  it,  and  was,  of  course,  well  laughed  at  by 
everybody  for  his  pains.  The  two  cardinals  soon  after 
became  reconciled  to  each  other,  feeling,  perhaps,  the 
necessity  of  uniting  against  the  common  enemy.  But 
they  could  come  to  no  better  understanding  with  her. 
Disagreements  continued,  so  that  at  last,  feeling  her  posi- 
tion perfectly  secure,  the  Princess  des  Ursins  begged  per- 
mission to  retire  into  Italy,  knowing  full  well  that  she 
would  not  be  taken  at  her  word,  and  hoping  by  this 
means  to  deliver  herself  of  the  stumbling-blocks  in  her 
path. 

Our  ministers,  who  felt  they  would  lose  all  control  over 
Spanish  affairs  if  Madame  des  Ursins  was  allowed  to  re- 
main mistress,  did  all  in  their  power  to  support  the 
d'Estre*es.  But  Madame  de  Maintenon  pleaded  so  well 
with  the  King,  representing  the  good  policy  of  allowing 
a  woman  so  much  attached  to  him,  and  to  the  Spanish 
Queen,  as  was  Madame  des  Ursins,  to  remain  where  she 
was,  that  he  entirely  swallowed  the  bait;  the  d'Estre"es 
were  left  without  support;  the  French  ambassador  at 
Madrid  was  virtually  deprived  of  all  power;  the  Spanish 
ministers  were  fettered  in  their  every  movement,  and 
the  authority  of  Madame  des  Ursins  became  stronger  than 
ever.  All  public  affairs  passed  through  her  hands.  The 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  285 

King  decided  nothing  without  conferring  with  the  Queen 
and  her. 

While  excluding  almost  all  the  ministers  from  public 
offices,  Madame  des  Ursins  admitted  a  few  favorites  into 
her  confidence.  Among  them  was  D'Harcourt,  who  stood 
well  with  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and  who  cared  little  for 
the  means  by  which  he  obtained  consideration ;  Orry,  who 
had  the  management  of  the  finances ;  and  D'Aubigny,  son 
of  a  Procureur  in  Paris.  The  last  was  a  tall,  handsome 
fellow,  well  made,  and  active  in  mind  and  body;  who  for 
many  years  had  been  with  the  Princess  as  a  sort  of  squire, 
and  on  very  intimate  terms  with  her.  One  day,  when, 
followed  by  some  of  the  ministers,  she  entered  a  room  in 
which  he  was  writing,  he  burst  out  into  exclamations 
against  her,  without  being  aware  that  she  was  not  alone, 
swore  at  her,  asked  her  why  she  could  not  leave  him 
an  hour  in  peace,  called  her  by  the  strangest  names, 
and  all  of  this  with  so  much  impetuosity  that  she 
had  no  time  to  show  him  who  were  behind  her. 
When  he  found  it  out,  he  ran  from  the  room,  leaving 
Madame  des  Ursins  so  confused  that  the  ministers  looked 
for  two  or  three  minutes  upon  the  walls  of  the  room  in 
order  to  give  her  time  to  recover  herself.  Soon  after 
this,  D'Aubigny  had  a  splendid  suite  of  apartments,  that 
had  formerly  been  occupied  by  Maria  Theresa  (afterward 
wife  of  Louis  XIV.),  placed  at  his  disposal,  with  some 
rooms  added,  in  despite  of  the  murmurs  that  arose  at  a 
distinction  so  strange  accorded  to  this  favorite. 

At  length,  Cardinal  d'Estre'es,  continually  in  arms  against 
Madame  des  Ursins,  and  continually  defeated,  could  not 
bear  his  position  any  longer,  but  asked  to  be  immediately 
recalled.  All  that  the  ministry  could  do  was  to  obtain 
permission  for  the  Abbe"  d'Estre'es  (nephew  of  the  Cardi- 
nal) to  remain  as  ambassador  of  France  at  Madrid.  As 
for  Portocarrero,  seeing  the  step  his  associate  had  taken, 
he  resolved  to  quit  public  business  also,  and  resigned  his 
place  accordingly.  Several  others  who  stood  in  the  way 
of  the  Princess  des  Ursins  were  gotten  rid  of  at  the 
same  time,  so  that  she  was  now  left  mistress  of  the  field. 
She  governed  absolutely  in  all  things;  the  ministers  be- 
came instruments  in  her  hands;  the  King  and  Queen 


386  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

agents  to  work  out  her  will.  She  was  at  the  highest  pin- 
nacle of  power.  Together  with  Orry  she  enjoyed  a  power 
such  as  no  one  had  ever  attained  since  the  time  of  the 
Duke  of  Lerma  and  of  Olivares. 

In  the  meantime  the  Archduke  was  declared  King  of 
Spain  by  the  Emperor,  who  made  no  mystery  of  his  in- 
tention of  attacking  Spain  by  way  of  Portugal.  The  Arch- 
duke soon  afterward  was  recognized  by  Holland,  England, 
Portugal,  Brandenburg,  Savoy,  and  Hanover,  as  King  of 
Spain,  under  the  title  of  Charles  III.,  and  soon  after  by 
the  other  powers  of  Europe.  The  Duke  of  Savoy  had 
been  treacherous  to  us,  had  shown  that  he  was  in  league 
with  the  Emperor.  The  King  accordingly,  had  broken 
off  all  relations  with  him,  and  sent  an  army  to  invade 
his  territory.  It  need  be  no  cause  of  surprise,  there- 
fore, that  the  Archduke  was  recognized  by  Savoy.  While 
our  armies  were  fighting  with  varied  fortune,  those  of 
the  Emperor  and  his  allies,  in  different  parts  of  Europe, 
notably  upon  the  Rhine,  Madame  des  Ursins  was  press- 
ing matters  to  extremities  in  Spain.  Dazzled  by  her  suc- 
cess in  expelling  the  two  cardinals  from  public  affairs, 
and  all  the  ministers  who  had  assisted  in  placing  Philip 
V.  upon  the  throne,  she  committed  a  blunder  of  which 
she  soon  had  cause  to  repent. 

I  have  said,  that  when  Cardinal  d'Estre'es  quitted 
Spain,  the  Abbe*  d'Estre'es  was  left  behind,  so  that  France 
should  not  be  altogether  unrepresented  in  an  official 
manner  at  the  court  of  Madrid.  Madame  des  Ursins  did 
not  like  this  arrangement,  but  as  Madame  de  Maintenon 
insisted  upon  it,  she  was  obliged  to  accept  it  with  as 
good  grace  as  possible.  The  Abbe\  vain  of  his  family 
and  of  his  position,  was  not  a  man  much  to  be  feared  as 
it  seemed.  Madame  des  Ursins  accordingly  laughed  at 
and  despised  him.  He  was  admitted  to  the  council,  but 
was  quite  without  influence  there,  and  when  he  attempted 
to  make  any  representations  to  Madame  des  Ursins  or  to 
Orry,  they  listened  to  him  without  attending  in  the  least 
to  what  he  said.  The  Princess  reigned  supreme,  and 
thought  of  nothing  but  getting  rid  of  all  who  attempted 
to  divide  her  authority.  At  last  she  obtained  such  a 
command  over  the  poor  Abbe"  d'Estre'es,  so  teased  and 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  287 

hampered  him,  that  he  consented  to  the  hitherto  unheard- 
of  arrangement,  that  the  Ambassador  of  France  should 
not  write  to  the  King-  without  first  concerting  his  letter 
with  her,  and  then  show  her  its  contents  before  he  dis- 
patched it.  But  such  restraint  as  this  became,  in  a  short 
time,  so  fettering,  that  the  Abbe"  determined  to  break 
away  from  it.  He  wrote  a  letter  to  the  King,  without 
showing  it  to  Madame  des  Ursins.  She  soon  had  scent 
of  what  he  had  done,  seized  the  letter  as  it  passed 
through  the  post,  opened  it,  and,  as  she  expected,  found 
its  contents  were  not  of  a  kind  to  give  her  much  satis- 
faction. But  what  piqued  her  most  was,  to  find  details 
exaggerating  the  authority  of  d'Aubigny,  and  a  state- 
ment to  the  effect  that  it  was  generally  believed  she  had 
married  him.  Beside  herself  with  rage  and  vexation, 
she  wrote  with  her  own  hand  upon  the  margin  of  the 
letter,  Potir  marine  non  ((<  At  any  rate,  not  married w), 
showed  it  in  this  state  to  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain, 
to  a  number  of  other  people,  always  with  strange  clam- 
oring, and  finally  crowned  her  folly  by  sending  it  to  the 
King  (Louis  XIV.),  with  furious  complaints  against  the 
Abbe"  for  writing  it  without  her  knowledge,  and  for  in- 
flicting upon  her  such  an  atrocious  injury  as  to  mention 
this  pretended  marriage.  Her  letter  and  its  inclosure 
reached  the  King  at  a  very  inopportune  moment.  Just 
before,  he  had  received  a  letter,  which,  taken  in  con- 
nection with  this  of  the  Princess  des  Ursins,  struck  a 
blow  at  her  power  of  the  most  decisive  kind. 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

Appointment  of  the  Duke  of  Berwick  —  Deception  Practiced  by  Orry  — 
Anger  of  Louis  XIV. —  Dismissal  of  Madame  des  Ursins — Her  In- 
trigues to  return  —  Annoyance  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain  — 
Intrigues  at  Versailles  —  Triumphant  return  of  Madame  des  Ursins 
to  Court  —  Baseness  of  the  Courtiers  —  Her  return  to  Spain  re- 
solved on. 

SOME  little  time  previously  it  had  been   thought  neces- 
sary to  send  an   army  to  the  frontiers  of  Portugal  to 

oppose  the  Archduke.  A  French  general  was  wanted 
to  command  this  army.  Madame  des  Ursins,  who  had 
been  very  intimate  with  the  King  of  England  ( James  II.  ) 
and  his  Queen,  thought  she  would  please  them  if  she 
gave  this  post  to  the  Duke  of  Berwick,  illegitimate  son 
of  King  James.  She  proposed  this  therefore;  and  our 
King,  out  of  regard  for  his  brother  monarch,  and  from 
a  natural  affection  for  bastards,  consented  to  the  appoint- 
ment; but  as  the  Duke  of  Berwick  had  never  before 
commanded  an  army,  he  stipulated  that  Puysegur,  known 
to  be  a  skillful  officer,  should  go  with  him  and  assist  him 
with  his  councils  and  advice. 

Puysegur  set  out  before  the  Duke  of  Berwick.  From 
the  Pyrenees  as  far  as  Madrid,  he  found  every  provision 
made  for  the  subsistance  of  the  French  troops,  and  sent 
a  very  advantageous  account  to  the  King  of  this  circum- 
stance. Arrived  at  Madrid,  he  had  interviews  with  Orry 
(who,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  had  the  finances  un- 
der his  control,  and  who  was  a  mere  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  Madame  des  Ursins),  and  was  assured  by  the 
minister  that  all  the  magazines  along  the  line  of  route  to 
the  frontiers  of  Portugal  were  abundantly  filled  with  sup- 
plies for  the  French  troops,  that  all  the  money  neces- 
sary was  ready,  and  that  nothing,  in  fact,  should  fail  in 
the  course  of  the  campaign.  Puyse*gur,  who  had  found 
nothing  wanting  up  to  that  time,  never  doubted  but  that 
these  statements  were  perfectly  correct;  and  had  no  sus- 

(288) 


MEMOIRS   OF  THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON      289 

picion  that  a  minister  would  have  the  effrontery  to  show 
him  in  detail  all  these  precautions  if  he  had  taken  none. 
Pleased,  then,  to  the  utmost  degree,  he  wrote  to  the 
King  in  praise  of  Orry,  and  consequently  of  Madame  des 
Ursins  and  her  wise  government.  Full  of  these  ideas,  he 
set  out  for  the  frontier  of  Portugal  to  reconnoiter  the 
ground  himself,  and  arrange  everything  for  the  arrival 
of  the  army  and  its  general.  What  was  his  surprise, 
when  he  found  that  from  Madrid  to  the  frontier  not  a 
single  preparation  had  been  made  for  the  troops,  and 
that  in  consequence  all  that  Orry  had  shown  him,  drawn 
out  upon  paper,  was  utterly  fictitious.  His  vexation  upon 
finding  that  nothing  upon  which  he  had  reckoned  was 
provided,  may  be  imagined.  He  at  once  wrote  to  the 
King,  in  order  to  contradict  all  that  he  had  recently 
written. 

This  conduct  of  Orry  —  his  impudence,  I  may  say — in 
deceiving  a  man,  who  immediately  after  would  have  under 
his  eyes  the  proof  of  his  deceit,  is  a  thing  past  all  com- 
prehension. It  is  easy  to  understand  that  rogues  should 
steal,  but  not  that  they  should  have  the  audacity  to  do  so 
in  the  face  of  facts  which  so  quickly  and  so  easily  could 
prove  their  villainy. 

It  was  Puyse"gur's  letter  then,  detailing  this  rascality 
on  the  part  of  Orry,  that  had  reached  the  King  just 
before  that  respecting  the  Abbe"  d'Estre'es.  The  two 
disclosed  a  state  of  things  that  could  not  be  allowed  any 
longer  to  exist.  Our  ministers,  who,  step  by  step,  had 
been  deprived  of  all  control  over  the  affairs  of  Spain, 
profited  by  the  discontentment  of  the  King  to  reclaim 
their  functions.  Harcourt  and  Madame  de  Maintenon 
did  all  they  could  to  ward  off  the  blow  from  Madame 
des  Ursins,  but  without  effect.  The  King  determined  to 
banish  her  to  Rome  and  to  dismiss  Orry  from  his  post. 

It  was  felt,  however,  that  these  steps  must  be  taken 
cautiously,  to  avoid  offending  too  deeply  the  King  and 
Queen  of  Spain,  who  supported  their  favorite  through 
every  emergency. 

In  the  first  place,  then,  a  simple  reprimand  was  sent 
to  the  Princess  des  Ursins  for  the  violation  of  the  respect 
due  to  the  King  by  opening  a  letter  addressed  to  him  by 
19 


290  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

one  of  his  ambassadors.  The  Abbe*  d'Estre'es,  who  ex- 
pected that  Madame  des  Ursins  would  be  at  once  dis- 
graced, and  who  had  made  a  great  outcry  when  his 
letter  was  opened,  fell  into  such  despair  when  he  saw 
how  lightly  she  was  let  off,  that  he  asked  for  his  dis- 
missal. He  was  taken  at  his  word;  and  this  was  a 
new  triumph  for  Madame  des  Ursins,  who  thought  herself 
more  secure  than  ever.  Her  triumph  was  of  but  short 
duration.  The  King  wrote  to  Philip,  recommending  him 
to  head  in  person  the  army  for  the  frontiers  of  Portugal, 
which,  in  spite  of  Orry's  deception,  it  was  still  determined 
to  send.  No  sooner  was  Philip  fairly  away,  separated 
from  the  Queen  and  Madame  des  Ursins,  and  no 
longer  under  their  influence,  than  the  King  wrote  to  the 
Queen  of  Spain,  requesting  her  in  terms  that  could  not 
be  disputed,  to  dismiss  at  once  and  forever  her  favorite 
Camerera  Mayor.  The  Queen,  in  despair  at  the  idea  of 
losing  a  friend  and  adviser  to  whom  she  had  been  so  much 
attached,  believed  herself  lost.  At  the  same  time  that 
the  King  wrote  to  the  Queen  of  Spain,  he  also  wrote  to 
the  Princess  des  Ursins,  ordering  her  to  quit  Madrid 
immediately,  to  leave  Spain,  and  to  retire  into  Italy. 

At  this  conjuncture  of  affairs,  when  the  Queen  was  in 
despair,  Madame  des  Ursins  did  not  lose  her  composure. 
She  opened  her  eyes  to  all  that  had  passed  since  she  had 
violated  D'Estre"es's  letter,  and  saw  the  vanity  of  the 
triumph  she  had  recently  enjoyed.  She  felt  at  once  that 
for  the  present  all  was  lost,  that  her  only  hope  was  to 
be  allowed  to  remain  in  France.  She  made  all  her  ar- 
rangements, therefore,  so  that  affairs  might  proceed  in 
her  absence  as  much  as  possible  as  though  she  were 
present,  and  then  prepared  to  set  out.  Dawdling  day  by 
day,  she  put  off  her  departure  as  long  as  could  be,  and 
when  at  length  she  left  Madrid  only  went  to  Alcala,  a 
few  leagues  distant.  She  stopped  there  under  various 
pretexts,  and  at  length,  after  five  weeks  of  delay,  set  out 
for  Bayonne,  journeying  as  slowly  as  she  could  and  stop- 
ping as  often  as  she  dared. 

She  lost  no  opportunity  of  demanding  an  audience  at 
Versailles,  in  order  to  clear  herself  of  the  charge  which 
weighed  upon'^her,  and  her  importunities  at  length  were 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  291 

not  without  effect.  The  most  terrible  storms  at  Court 
soon  blow  over.  The  King  (Louis  XIV.)  was  satisfied 
with  the  success  of  his  plans.  He  had  been  revenged  in 
every  way,  and  had  humbled  the  pride  of  the  Princess 
des  Ursins.  It  was  not  necessary  to  excite  the  anger  of 
the  Queen  and  King  of  Spain  by  too  great  harshness 
against  their  fallen  friend.  Madame  des  Maintenon  took 
advantage  of  this  change  in  the  temper  of  the  King,  and 
by  dint  of  persuasion  and  scheming  succeeded  in  obtain- 
ing from  him  the  permission  for  Madame  des  Ursins  to 
remain  in  France.  Toulouse  was  fixed  upon  for  her 
residence.  It  was  a  place  that  just  suited  her,  and  from 
which  communication  with  Spain  was  easy.  Here  ac- 
cordingly she  took  up  her  residence,  determined  to  watch 
well  the  course  of  events,  and  to  avail  herself  of  every 
opportunity  that  could  bring  about  her  complete  recon- 
ciliation with  the  King  (Louis  XIV.),  and  obtain  for 
her  in  consequence  the  permission  to  return  to  Madrid. 
In  the  meantime,  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain,  dis- 
tressed beyond  measure  at  the  loss  of  their  favorite, 
thought  only  of  the  best  means  of  obtaining  her  recall. 
They  plotted  with  such  ministers  as  were  favorable  to 
her;  they  openly  quarreled  with  and  thwarted  those  who 
were  her  opponents,  so  that  the  most  important  matters 
perished  in  their  hands.  Nay  more,  upon  the  King  of 
Spain's  return,  the  Queen  persuaded  him  to  oppose  in 
all  things  the  wishes  of  the  King  (Louis  XIV.),  his 
grandfather,  and  to  neglect  his  counsels  with  studied 
care.  Our  King  complained  of  this  with  bitterness.  The 
aim  of  it  was  to  tire  him  out,  and  to  make  him  under- 
stand that  it  was  only  Madame  des  Ursins,  well  treated 
and  sent  back,  who  could  restore  Spanish  affairs  to  their 
original  state,  and  cause  his  authority  to  be  respected. 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  on  her  side,  neglected  no  oppor- 
tunity of  pressing  the  King  to  allow  Madame  des  Ursins, 
not  to  return  into  Spain  —  that  would  have  been  to  spoil 
all  by  asking  too  much  —  but  simply  to  come  to  Versailles 
in  order  to  have  the  opportunity  of  justifying  herself  for 
her  past  conduct.  From  other  quarters  the  King  was 
similarly  importuned.  Tired  at  last  of  the  obstinate  op- 
position he  met  with  in  Spain  from  the  Queen,  who 


292  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

governed  completely  her  husband,  he  gave  permission  to 
Madame  des  Ursins  to  come  to  Versailles  to  plead  her 
own  cause.  Self-imprisoned  as  he  was  in  seclusion,  the 
truth  never  approached  him,  and  he  was  the  only  man 
in  the  two  kingdoms  who  had  no  suspicion  that  the 
arrival  of  Madame  des  Ursins  at  the  Court  was  the  cer- 
tain sign  of  her  speedy  return  to  Spain  more  powerful 
than  ever.  But  he  was  fatigued  with  the  constant  resist- 
ance he  met  with ;  with  the  disorder  which  this  occasioned 
in  public  affairs  at  a  time  too  when,  as  I  will  afterward 
explain,  the  closest  union  was  necessary  between  the  two 
crowns  in  order  to  repel  the  common  enemy,  and  these 
motives  induced  him,  to  the  astonishment  of  his  minis- 
ters, to  grant  the  favor  requested  of  him. 

However  well  informed  Madame  des  Ursins  might  be 
of  all  that  was  being  done  on  her  account,  this  permis- 
sion surpassed  her  hopes.  Her  joy  accordingly  was  very 
great;  but  it  did  not  at  all  carry  her  away.  She  saw 
that  her  return  to  Spain  would  now  depend  upon  herself. 
She  determined  to  put  on  the  air  of  one  who  is  dis- 
graced, but  who  hopes,  and  yet  is  humiliated.  She  in- 
structed all  her  friends  to  assume  the  same  manner;  took 
all  measures  with  infinite  presence  of  mind;  did  not 
hurry  her  departure,  and  yet  set  out  with  sufficient 
promptness  to  prevent  any  coldness  springing  up,  and  to 
show  with  what  eagerness  she  profited  by  the  favor 
accorded  to  her,  and  which  she  had  so  much  wished. 

No  sooner  was  the  courier  gone  who  carried  this  news 
to  her,  than  the  rumor  of  her  return  was  whispered  all 
over  the  Court,  and  became  publicly  confirmed  a  few  days 
afterward.  The  movement  that  it  produced  at  Court  was 
inconceivable.  Only  the  friends  of  Madame  des  Ursins 
were  able  to  remain  in  a  tolerably  tranquil  state.  Every- 
body opened  his  eyes  and  comprehended  that  the  return 
of  such  an  important  personage  was  a  fact  that  could  not 
be  insignificant.  People  prepared  themselves  for  a  sort 
of  rising  sun  that  was  going  to  change  and  renew  many 
things  in  nature.  On  every  side  were  seen  people 
who  had  scarcely  ever  uttered  her  name,  and  who  now 
boasted  of  their  intimacy  with  her  and  of  her  friendship 
for  them.  Other  people  were  seen,  who,  although  openly 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  293 

allied  with  her  enemies,  had  the  baseness  to  affect  trans- 
ports of  joy  at  her  forthcoming  return,  and  to  flatter 
those  whom  they  thought  likely  to  favor  them  with  her. 

She  reached  Paris  on  Sunday  the  4th  of  January,  1705. 
The  Due  d'Albe  met  her  several  miles  out  of  the  city, 
escorted  her  to  his  house,  and  gave  a  f$te  in  her  honor 
there.  Several  persons  of  distinction  went  out  to  meet 
her.  Madame  des  Ursins  had  reason  to  be  surprised  at 
an  entry  so  triumphant :  she  would  not,  however,  stay  with 
the  Due  and  Duchess  d'Albe,  but  took  up  her  quarters 
with  the  Comtesse  d'Egmont,  niece  of  the  Archbishop 
of  Aix;  the  said  Archbishop  having  been  instrumental 
in  obtaining  her  recall.  The  King  was  at  Marly.  I  was 
there  with  Madame  de  Saint-Simon.  During  the  re- 
mainder of  the  stay  at  Marly  everybody  flocked  to  the 
house  of  Madame  des  Ursins,  anxious  to  pay  her  their 
court.  However  flattered  she  may  have  been  by  this 
concourse,  she  had  matters  to  occupy  her,  pleaded  want 
of  repose,  and  shut  her  door  to  three  people  out  of  four 
who  called  upon  her.  Curiosity,  perhaps  fashion,  drew 
this  great  crowd  to  her.  The  ministers  were  startled  by 
it.  Torcy  had  orders  from  the  King  to  go  and  see  her: 
he  did  so;  and  from  that  moment  Madame  des  Ursins 
changed  her  tone.  Until  then  her  manner  had  been 
modest,  supplicating,  nearly  timid.  She  now  saw  and 
heard  so  much  that  from  defendant,  which  she  had  in- 
tended to  be,  she  thought  herself  in  a  condition  to  become 
accuser;  and  to  demand  justice  of  those,  who,  abusing 
the  confidence  of  the  King,  had  drawn  upon  her  such  a 
long  and  cruel  punishment,  and  made  her  a  show  for  the 
two  kingdoms.  All  that  happened  to  her  surpassed  her 
hopes.  Several  times  when  with  me  she  has  expressed 
her  astonishment;  and  with  me  has  laughed  at  many 
people,  often  of  much  consideration,  whom  she  scarcely 
knew,  or  who  had  been  strongly  opposed  to  her,  and  who 
basely  crouched  at  her  feet. 

The  King  returned  to  Versailles  on  Saturday,  the  loth 
of  January.  Madame  des  Ursins  arrived  there  the  same 
day.  I  went  immediately  to  see  her,  not  having  been 
able  to  do  so  before,  because  I  could  not  quit  Marly.  My 
mother  had  seen  a  great  deal  of  Madame  des  Ursins  at 


294  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

Paris.  I  had  always  been  on  good  terms  with  her,  and 
had  received  on  all  occasions  proofs  of  her  friendship. 
She  received  me  very  well,  spoke  with  much  freedom, 
and  said  she  promised  herself  the  pleasure  of  seeing  me 
again,  and  of  talking  with  me  more  at  her  ease.  On  the 
morrow,  Sunday,  she  dined  at  home  alone,  dressed 
herself  in  grand  style,  and  went  to  the  King,  with  whom 
she  remained  alone  two  hours  and  a  half  conversing  in 
his  cabinet.  From  there  she  went  to  the  Duchess  de 
Bourgogne,  with  whom  she  also  conversed  a  long  time 
alone.  In  the  evening,  the  King  said,  while  in  Madame 
de  Maintenon's  apartments,  that  there  were  still  many 
things  upon  which  he  had  not  yet  spoken  to  Madame  des 
Ursins.  The  next  day  she  saw  Madame  de  Maintenon 
in  private  for  a  long  time,  and  much  at  her  ease.  'She 
had  an  interview  soon  after  with  the  King  and  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  which  was  also  very  long. 

A  month  after  this  a  special  courier  arrived  from  the 
King  and  Queen  of  Spain,  to  thank  the  King  ( Louis 
XIV.)  for  his  conduct  toward  the  Princess  des  Ursins. 
From  that  moment  it  was  announced  that  she  would 
remain  at  Court  until  the  month  of  April,  in  order  to 
attend  to  her  affairs  and  her  health.  It  was  already 
to  have  made  a  grand  step  to  be  mistress  enough  to  an- 
nounce thus  her  stay.  Nobody  in  truth,  doubted  of  her 
return  to  Spain,  but  the  word  was  not  yet  said.  She 
avoided  all  explanations,  and  it  may  be  believed  did  not 
have  many  indiscreet  questions  put  to  her  upon  the 
subject. 

So  many  and  such  long  audiences  with  the  King,  fol- 
lowed by  so  much  serenity,  had  a  great  effect  upon  the 
world,  and  the  crowd  that  flocked  to  see  Madame  des 
Ursins  was  greater  than  ever;  but  under  various  pre- 
tenses she  shut  herself  up  and  would  see  only  a  few 
intimate  friends,  foremost  among  which  were  Madame 
de  Saint-Simon  and  myself.  While  triumphant  beyond 
all  her  hopes  in  Paris,  she  was  at  work  in  Spain,  and 
with  equal  success.  Rivas,  who  had  drawn  up  the  will 
of  the  late  King  Charles  II.,  was  disgraced,  and  never 
afterward  rose  to  favor.  The  Due  de  Grammont,  our 
ambassador  at  Madrid,  was  so  overwhelmed  with  annoy- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  295 

ance,  that  he  asked  for  his  recall.  Amelot,  whom  Ma- 
dame des  Ursins  favored,  was  appointed  in  his  place,  and 
many  who  had  been  disgraced  were  reinstated  in  office; 
everything  was  ordered  according  to  her  wishes. 

We  returned  to  Marly,  where  many  balls  took  place.  It 
need  not  be  doubted  that  Madame  des  Ursins  was  among 
the  invited.  Apartments  were  given  her,  and  nothing 
could  equal  the  triumphant  air  with  which  she  took  pos- 
session of  them,  the  continual  attentions  of  the  King  to 
her,  as  though  she  were  some  little  foreign  queen  just 
arrived  at  his  Court,  or  the  majestic  fashion  in  which  she 
received  them,  mingled  with  grace  and  respectful  polite- 
ness, then  almost  out  of  date,  and  which  recalled  the 
stately  old  dames  of  the  Queen  mother.  She  never  came 
without  the  King,  who  appeared  to  be  completely  occu- 
pied with  her,  talking  with  her,  pointing  out  objects  for 
inspection,  seeking  her  opinion  and  her  approbation  with 
an  air  of  gallantry,  even  of  flattery,  which  never  ceased. 
The  frequent  private  conversations  that  she  had  with  him 
in  the  apartment  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and  which 
lasted  an  hour,  and  sometimes  double  that  time;  those 
that  she  very  often  had  in  the  morning  alone  with 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  rendered  her  the  divinity  of  the 
Court.  The  Princesses  encircled  her  the  moment  she 
appeared  anywhere,  and  went  to  see  her  in  her  chamber. 
Nothing  was  more  surprising  than  the  servile  eagerness 
with  which  the  greatest  people,  the  highest  in  power  and 
the  most  in  favor,  clustered  around  her.  Her  very  glances 
were  counted,  and  her  words,  addressed  even  to  ladies  of 
the  highest  rank,  imprinted  upon  them  a  look  of  ravish- 
ment. 

I  went  nearly  every  morning  to  her  house:  she  always 
rose  very  early,  dressed  herself  at  once,  so  that  she  was 
never  seen  at  her  toilet.  I  was  in  advance  of  the  hour 
fixed  for  the  most  important  visitors,  and  we  talked  with 
the  same  liberty  as  of  yore.  I  learned  from  her  many 
details,  and  the  opinion  of  the  King  and  of  Madame  de 
Maintenon  upon  many  people.  We  often  used  to  laugh 
in  concert  at  the  truckling  to  her  of  persons  the  most 
considerable,  and  of  the  disdain  they  drew  upon  them- 
selves, although  she  did  not  testify  it  to  them.  We 


296  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

laughed  too  at  the  falsehood  of  others,  who  after  having 
done  her  all  the  injury  in  their  power  ever  since  her 
arrival,  lavished  upon  her  all  kinds  of  flatteries,  and 
boasted  of  their  affection  for  her  and  of  zeal  in  her 
cause.  I  was  flattered  with  this  confidence  of  the  dicta- 
tress  of  the  Court.  It  drew  upon  me  a  sudden  con- 
sideration; for  people  of  the  greatest  distinction  often 
found  me  alone  with  her  in  the  morning,  and  the  mes- 
sengers who  rained  down  at  that  time  reported  that  they 
had  found  me  with  her,  and  that  they  had  not  been  able 
to  speak  to  her.  Oftentimes  in  the  salon  she  called  me 
to  her,  or  at  other  times  I  went  to  her  and  whispered  a 
word  in  her  ear,  with  an  air  of  ease  and  liberty  much 
envied  but  little  imitated.  She  never  met  Madame  de 
Saint-Simon  without  going  to  her,  praising  her,  making 
her  join  in  the  conversation  that  was  passing  around ;  often- 
times leading  her  to  the  glass  and  adjusting  her  head- 
dress or  her  robe  as  she  might  have  done  in  private  to 
a  daughter.  People  asked  with  surprise  and  much  an- 
noyance whence  came  such  a  great  friendship  which  had 
never  been  suspected  by  anybody  ?  What  completed  the 
torment  of  the  majority,  was  to  see  Madame  des  Ursins, 
as  soon  as  she  quitted  the  chamber  of  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  go  immediately  to  Madame  de  Saint-Simon, 
lead  her  aside,  and  speak  to  her  in  a  low  tone.  This 
opened  the  eyes  of  everybody  and  drew  upon  us  many 
civilities. 

A  more  solid  gratification  to  us  were  the  kind  things 
Madame  des  Ursins  said  in  our  behalf  to  the  King  and 
Madame  de  Maintenon.  She  spoke  in  the  highest  praise 
of  Madame  de  Saint-Simon,  and  declared  that  there  was 
no  woman  at  Court  so  fitting  as  she,  so  expressly  made 
by  her  virtue,  good  conduct,  and  ability,  to  be  lady  of 
the  palace,  or  even  lady  of  honor  to  Madame  la  Duchess 
de  Bourgogne,  should  the  post  become  vacant.  Madame 
des  Ursins  did  not  forget  me;  but  a  woman  was  more 
susceptible  of  her  praise.  It  made,  therefore,  all  the 
more  impression.  This  kind  manner  toward  us  did  not 
change  during  all  her  stay  at  Court. 

At  all  the  balls  which  Madame  des  Ursins  attended, 
she  was  treated  with  much  distinction,  and  at  one  she 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  297 

obtained  permission  for  the  Due  and  Duchess  d'Albe  to 
be  present,  but  with  some  little  trouble.  I  say  with 
some  little  trouble,  because  no  ambassador,  no  foreigner, 
had  ever,  with  one  exception,  been  admitted  to  Marly. 
It  was  a  great  favor,  therefore,  for  Madame  des  Ursins 
to  obtain.  The  King,  too,  treated  the  Due  and  Duchess 
d'Albe,  throughout  the  evening  with  marked  respect,  and 
placed  the  latter  in  the  most  distinguished  position,  not 
only  in  the  ballroom  but  at  supper.  When  he  went  to 
bed,  too,  he  gave  the  Due  d'Albe  his  candlestick;  an 
honor  the  importance  of  which  I  have  already  described. 
At  the  other  balls  Madame  des  Ursins  seated  herself 
near  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  and  looked  at  everybody 
with  her  lorgnette.  At  every  moment  the  King  turned 
round  to  speak  to  her  and  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who 
came  for  half  an  hour  or  so  to  these  balls,  and  on  her 
account  displaced  the  Grand  Chamberlain,  who  put  him- 
self behind  her.  In  this  manner  she  joined  Madame  des 
Ursins,  and  was  close  to  the  King  —  the  conversation 
between  the  three  being  continual.  What  appeared  ex- 
tremely singular  was  to  see  Madame  des  Ursins  in  the 
salon  with  a  little  spaniel  in  her  arms,  as  though  she  had 
been  in  her  own  house.  People  could  not  sufficiently 
express  their  astonishment  at  a  familiarity  which  even 
Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  would  not  have  dared 
to  venture ;  still  less  could  they  do  so  when  they  saw  the 
King  caress  this  little  dog  over  and  over  again.  In  fine, 
such  a  high  flight  has  never  been  seen.  People  could 
not  accustom  themselves  to  it,  and  those  who  knew  the 
King  and  his  Court,  are  surprised  still,  when  they  think 
of  it,  after  so  many  years.  There  was  no  longer  any 
doubt  that  Madame  des  Ursins  would  return  into  Spain. 
All  her  frequent  private  conversations  with  the  King  and 
Madame  de  Maintenon  were  upon  that  country.  I  will 
only  add  here  that  her  return  took  place  in  due  time; 
and  that  her  influence  became  more  paramount  than  ever. 


CHAPTER   XXIX. 

An  Honest  Courtier  —  Robbery  of  Courtin  and  Fieubet — An  Impor- 
tant Affair — My  Interview  with  the  King  —  His  jealousy  of  His  Au- 
thority —  Madame  La  Queue,  the  King's  Daughter  —  Battle  of 
Blenheim  or  Hochstedt  —  Our  Defeat  —  Effect  of  the  News  on  the 
King  —  Public  Grief  and  Public  Rejoicings  —  Death  of  My  Friend 
Montfort. 

IN  RELATING  what  happened  to  Madame  des  Ursins  up 
to  her  return  to  Spain,  I  have  carried  the  narrative 
into  the  year  1705.  It  is  now  necessary  to  retrace 
our  steps.  Toward  the  end  of  1703  Courtin  died.  He 
had  early  shown  at  the  Council,  and  had  been  made  in- 
tendant  of  Picardy.  M.  de  Chaulnes,  whose  estates  were 
there,  begged  him  to  tax  them  as  lightly  as  possible. 
Courtin,  who  was  a  very  intimate  friend  of  M.  de  Chaulnes, 
complied  with  his  request;  but  the  next  year,  in  go- 
ing over  his  accounts,  he  found  that  to  do  a  good  turn 
to  M.  de  Chaulnes  he  had  done  an  ill  turn  to  many 
others  —  that  is  to  say,  he  had  relieved  M.  de  Chaulnes 
at  the  expense  of  other  parishes,  which  he  had  over- 
charged. The  trouble  this  caused  him  made  him  search 
deeply  into  the  matter,  and  he  found  that  the  wrong  he 
had  done  amounted  to  forty  thousand  francs.  Without  a 
second  thought  he  paid  back  this  money,  and  asked  to 
be  recalled.  As  he  was  much  esteemed,  his  request  was 
not  at  once  complied  with,  but  he  represented  so  well 
that  he  could  not  pass  his  life  doing  wrong,  and  unable 
to  serve  his  friends,  that  at  last  what  he  asked  was 
granted.  He  afterward  had  several  embassies,  went  to 
England  as  ambassador,  and  was  very  successful  in  that 
capacity.  I  cannot  quit  Courtin  without  relating  an  ad- 
venture he  had  one  day  with  Fieubet,  a  councilor  of 
State  like  himself.  As  they  were  going  to  St.  Germain 
they  were  stopped  by  several  men  and  robbed;  robbery 
was  common  in  those  days,  and  Fieubet  lost  all  he  had 
in  his  pockets.  When  the  thieves  had  left  them,  and 
(298) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE    DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON       299 

while  Fieubet  was  complaining  of  his  misfortune,  Courtin 
began  to  applaud  himself  for  having  saved  his  watch  and 
fifty  pistoles  that  he  had  time  to  slip  into  his  trowsers. 
Immediately  on  hearing  this,  Fieubet  put  his  head  out 
of  the  coach  window,  and  called  back  the  thieves,  who 
came  sure  enough  to  see  what  he  wanted. 

(<  Gentlemen, M  said  he,  <(  you  appear  to  be  honest  folks 
in  distress;  it  is  not  reasonable  that  you  should  be  the 
dupes  of  this  gentleman,  who  has  swindled  you  out  of 
fifty  pistoles  and  his  watch. w  And  then  turning  to 
Courtin,  he  smilingly  said :  (<  You  told  me  so  yourself, 
monsieur;  so  give  the  things  up  like  a  man,  without  be- 
ing searched. w 

The  astonishment  and  indignation  of  Courtin  were  such 
that  he  allowed  money  and  watch  to  be  taken  from  him 
without  uttering  a  single  word;  but  when  the  thieves 
were  gone  away  he  would  have  strangled  Fieubet  had 
not  this  latter  been  the  stronger  of  the  two.  Fieubet 
only  laughed  at  him;  and  upon  arriving  at  St.  Germain 
told  the  adventure  to  everybody  he  met.  Their  friends 
had  all  the  trouble  in  the  world  to  reconcile  them. 

The  year  finished  with  an  affair  in  which  I  was  not  a 
little  interested.  During  the  year  there  were  several 
grand  fetes,  at  which  the  King  went  to  high  mass  and 
vespers.  On  these  occasions  a  lady  of  the  Court, 
named  by  the  Queen,  or  when  there  was  none,  by  the 
Dauphiness,  made  a  collection  for  the  poor.  The  house 
of  Lorraine,  always  anxious  to  increase  its  importance, 
shirked  impudently  this  duty,  in  order  thereby  to  give 
itself  a  new  distinction,  and  assimilate  its  rank  to  that  of 
the  princes  of  the  blood.  It  was  a  long  time  before  this 
was  perceived.  At  last  the  Duchess  de  Noailles,  the 
Duchess  de  Guiche,  her  daughter,  the  Mare"chal  de 
Boufflers  and  others,  took  notice  of  it,  and  I  was  soon 
after  informed  of  it.  I  determined  that  the  matter  should 
be  arranged,  and  that  justice  should  be  done. 

The  Duchess  de  Lude  was  first  spoken  to  on  the  sub- 
ject: she,  weak  and  timid,  did  not  dare  to  do  anything; 
but  at  last  was  induced  to  speak  to  Madame  la  Duchess 
de  Bourgogne,  who,  wishing  to  judge  for  herself  as  to 
the  truth  of  the  matter,  ordered  Madame  de  Montbazon 


300  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

to  make  the  collection  for  the  poor  at  the  next  ftte  that 
took  place.  Although  very  well,  Madame  de  Montbazon 
pretended  to  be  ill,  stopped  in  bed  half  a  day,  and  ex- 
cused herself  on  this  ground  from  performing  the  duty. 
Madame  de  Bourgogne  was  annoyed,  but  she  did  not 
dare  to  push  matters  farther;  and,  in  consequence  of 
this  refusal,  none  of  the  duchesses  would  make  the  col- 
lection. Other  ladies  of  quality  soon  perceived  this,  and 
they  also  refused  to  serve ;  so  that  the  collection  fell  into 
all  sorts  of  hands,  and  sometimes  was  not  made  at  all. 
Matters  went  on  so  far,  indeed,  that  the  King  at  last  grew 
angry,  and  threatened  to  make  Madame  de  Bourgogne 
herself  take  this  office.  But  refusals  still  followed  upon 
refusals,  and  the  bomb  thus  at  length  was  ready  to 
burst ! 

The  King,  who  at  last  ordered  the  daughter  of  M.  le 
Grand  to  take  the  plate  on  New  Year's  Day,  1704,  had,  it 
seems,  gotten  scent  of  the  part  I  was  taking  in  this  mat- 
ter, and  expressed  himself  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  as 
I  learned,  as  very  discontented  with  me  and  one  or  two 
other  dukes.  He  said  that  the  dukes  were  much  less 
obedient  to  him  than  the  princes;  and  that  although 
many  duchesses  had  refused  to  make  the  collection,  the 
moment  he  had  proposed  that  the  daughter  of  M.  le 
Grand  should  take  it,  M.  le  Grand  consented.  On  the 
next  day,  early  in  the  morning,  I  saw  Chamillart,  who 
related  to  me  that  on  the  previous  evening,  before  he 
had  had  time  to  open  his  business,  the  King  had  burst 
out  in  anger  against  me,  saying  that  it  was  very  strange, 
but  that  since  I  had  quitted  the  army  I  did  nothing  but 
meddle  in  matters  of  rank  and  bring  actions  against 
everybody;  finishing,  by  declaring  that  if  he  acted  well 
he  should  send  me  so  far  away  that  I  should  be  unable 
to  importune  him  any  more.  Chamillart  added,  that  he 
had  done  all  in  his  power  to  appease  the  King,  but  with 
little  effect. 

After  consulting  with  my  friends,  I  determined  to  go 
up  to  the  King  and  boldly  ask  to  speak  to  him  in  his 
cabinet,  believing  that  to  be  the  wisest  course  I  could 
pursue.  He  was  not  yet  so  reconciled  to  me  as  he  after- 
ward became,  and,  in  fact,  was  sorely  out  of  humor  with  me. 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  301 

This  step  did  not  seem,  therefore,  altogether  unattended 
with  danger;  but,  as  I  have  said,  I  resolved  to  take  it. 
As  he  passed,  therefore,  from  his  dinner  that  same  day, 
I  asked  permission  to  follow  him  into  his  cabinet.  With- 
out replying  to  me,  he  made  a  sign  that  I  might  enter, 
and  went  into  the  embrasure  of  the  window. 

When  we  were  quite  alone  I  explained,  at  considerable 
length,  my  reasons  for  acting  in  this  matter,  declaring 
that  it  was  from  no  disrespect  to  his  Majesty  that  I  had 
requested  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  and  the  other  duch- 
esses to  refuse  to  collect  for  the  poor,  but  simply  to 
bring  those  to  account,  who  had  claimed  without  reason 
to  be  exempt  from  this  duty.  I  added,  keeping  my  eyes 
fixed  upon  the  King  all  the  time,  that  I  begged  him  to 
believe  that  none  of  his  subjects  were  more  submissive  to 
his  will  or  more  willing  to  acknowledge  the  supremacy 
of  his  authority  in  all  things  than  the  dukes.  Until  this 
his  tone  and  manner  had  been  very  severe;  but  now 
they  both  softened,  and  he  said,  with  much  goodness 
and  familiarity,  that  (<  that  was  how  it  was  proper  to  speak 
and  think,0  and  other  remarks  equally  as  gracious.  I 
took  then  the  opportunity  of  expressing  the  sorrow  I  felt 
at  seeing,  that  while  my  sole  endeavor  was  to  please 
him,  my  enemies  did  all  they  could  to  blacken  me  in  his 
eyes,  indicating  that  I  suspected  M.  de  Grand,  who  had 
never  pardoned  me  for  the  part  I  took  in  the  affair  of 
the  Princess  d'Harcourt,  was  one  of  the  number.  After 
I  had  finished  the  King  remained  still  a  moment,  as  if 
ready  to  hear  if  I  had  anything  more  to  say,  and  then 
quitted  me  with  a  bow,  slight,  but  very  gracious,  saying 
it  was  well,  and  that  he  was  pleased  with  me. 

I  learned  afterward  that  he  said  the  same  thing  of  me 
in  the  evening  to  Chamillart,  but,  nevertheless,  that  he 
did  not  seem  at  all  shaken  in  his  prejudice  in  favor  of 
M.  le  Grand.  The  King  was  in  fact  very  easy  to  prej- 
udice, difficult  to  lead  back,  and  most  unwilling  to  seek 
•enlightenment,  or  to  listen  to  any  explanations,  if  author- 
ity was  in  the  slightest  degree  at  stake.  Whoever  had 
the  address  to  make  a  question  take  this  shape,  might 
be  assured  that  the  King  would  throw  aside  all  con- 
sideration of  justice,  right,  and  reason,  and  dismiss  all 


302  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

evidence.  It  was  by  playing  on  this  chord  that  his  min- 
isters knew  how  to  manage  him  with  so  much  art,  and 
to  make  themselves  despotic  masters,  causing  him  to  be- 
lieve all  they  wished,  while  at  the  same  time  they  ren- 
dered him  inaccessible  to  explanation,  and  to  those  who 
might  have  explained. 

I  have,  perhaps,  too  much  expanded  an  affair  which 
might  have  been  more  compressed.  But  in  addition  to 
the  fact,  that  I  was  mixed  up  in  it,  it  is  by  these  little 
private  details,  as  it  seems  to  me,  that  the  character  of 
the  Court  and  King  are  best  made  known. 

In  the  early  part  of  the  next  year,  1704,  the  King  made 
La  Queue,  who  was  a  captain  of  cavalry,  camp  master. 
This  La  Queue  was  seigneur  of  the  place  of  which  he 
bore  the  name,  distant  six  leagues  from  Versailles,  and 
as  much  from  Dreux.  He  had  married  a  girl  that  the 
King  had  had  by  a  gardener's  wife.  Bontems,  the  con- 
fidential valet  of  the  King,  had  brought  about  the  mar- 
riage without  declaring  the  names  of  the  father  or  the 
mother  of  the  girl ;  but  La  Queue  knew  it,  and  promised 
himself  a  fortune.  The  girl  herself  was  tall  and  strongly 
resembled  the  King.  Unfortunately  for  her,  she  knew 
the  secret  of  her  birth,  and  much  envied  her  three  sisters 
— recognized,  and  so  grandly  married.  She  lived  on 
very  good  terms  with  her  husband  —  always,  however,  in 
the  greatest  privacy — and  had  several  children  by  him. 
La  Queue  himself,  although  by  this  marriage  son-in-law 
of  the  King,  seldom  appeared  at  the  Court,  and,  when 
there,  was  on  the  same  footing  as  the  simplest  soldier. 
Bontems  did  not  fail  from  time  to  time  to  give  him 
money.  The  wife  of  La  Queue  lived  very  melancholy 
for  twenty  years  in  her  village,  never  left  it,  and  scarcely 
ever  went  abroad  for  fear  of  betraying  herself. 

On  Wednesday,  the  2 5th  of  June,  Monseigneur  le  Due 
de  Bourgogne  had  a  son  born  to  him.  This  event  caused 
great  joy  to  the  King  and  the  Court.  The  town  shared 
their  delight,  and  carried  their  enthusiasm  almost  to  mad- 
ness, by  the  excess  of  their  demonstration  and  their 
f/tes.  The  King  gave  a  f$te  at  Marly,  and  made  the 
most  magnificent  presents  to  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bour- 
gogne when  she  left  her  bed.  But  we  soon  had  reason 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  303 

to  repent  of  so  much  joy,  for  the  child  died  in  less  than 
a  year  —  and  of  so  much  money  unwisely  spent  in  fetes 
when  it  was  wanted  for  more  pressing  purposes.  Even 
while  these  rejoicings  were  being  celebrated,  news  reached 
us  which  spread  consternation  in  every  family,  and  cast 
a  gloom  over  the  whole  city. 

I  have  already  said  that  a  grand  alliance,  with  the 
Emperor  at  its  head,  had  been  formed  against  France, 
and  that  our  troops  were  opposing  the  allies  in  various 
parts  of  Europe.  The  Elector  of  Bavaria  had  joined  his 
forces  to  ours,  and  had  already  done  us  some  service. 
On  the  1 2th  of  August  he  led  his  men  into  the  plain  of 
Hochstedt,  where,  during  the  previous  year,  he  had  gained 
a  victory  over  the  Imperialists.  In  this  plain  he  was 
joined  by  our  troops,  who  took  up  positions  right  and 
left  of  him,  under  the  command  of  Tallard  and  Marsin. 
The  Elector  himself  had  command  of  all.  Soon  after 
their  arrival  at  Hochstedt,  they  received  intelligence  that 
Prince  Eugene,  with  the  Imperialist  forces,  and  the  Duke 
of  Marlborough  with  the  English  were  coming  to  meet 
them.  Our  generals  had,  however,  all  the  day  before 
them  to  choose  their  ground,  and  to  make  their  disposi- 
tions. It  would  have  been  difficult  to  succeed  worse, 
both  with  the  one  and  the  other.  A  brook,  by  no  means 
of  a  miry  kind,  ran  parallel  to  our  army;  and  in  front 
of  it  a  spring,  which  formed  a  long  and  large  quagmire, 
nearly  separated  the  two  lines  of  Marshal  Tallard.  It 
was  a  strange  situation  for  a  general  to  take  up,  who 
is  master  of  a  vast  plain;  and  it  became,  as  will  be 
seen,  a  very  sad  one.  At  his  extreme  right  was  the  large 
village  of  Blenheim,  in  which,  by  a  blindness  without 
example,  he  had  placed  twenty-six  battalions  of  infantry, 
six  regiments  of  dragoons,  and  a  brigade  of  cavalry. 
It  was  an  entire  army  merely  for  the  purpose  of  holding 
this  village,  and  supporting  his  right,  and  of  course 
he  had  all  these  troops  the  less  to  aid  him  in  the  battle 
which  took  place.  The  first  battle  of  Hochstedt  af- 
forded a  lesson  which  ought  to  have  been  studied  on 
this  occasion.  There  were  many  officers  present,  too, 
who  had  been  at  that  battle;  but  they  were  not  con- 
sulted. One  of  two  courses  was  open,  either  to  take 


304  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

up  a  position  behind  the  brook,  and  parallel  to  it, 
so  as  to  dispute  its  passage  with  the  enemies,  or  to 
take  advantage  of  the  disorder  they  would  be  thrown 
into  in  crossing  it  by  attacking  them  then.  Both  these 
plans  were  good;  the  second  was  the  better;  but  nei- 
ther was  adopted.  What  was  done  was,  to  leave  a 
large  space  between  our  troops  and  the  brook,  that 
the  enemy  might  pass  at  their  ease,  and  be  overthrown 
afterward,  as  was  said.  With  such  dispositions  it  is 
impossible  to  doubt  but  that  our  chiefs  were  struck 
with  blindness.  The  Danube  flowed  near  enough  to 
Blenheim  to  be  of  sufficient  support  to  our  right,  bet- 
ter indeed  than  that  village,  which  consequently  there 
was  no  necessity  to  hold. 

The  enemies  arrived  on  the  i3th  of  August  at  the  dawn, 
and  at  once  took  up  their  position  on  the  banks  of  the 
brook.  Their  surprise  must  have  been  great  to  see  our 
army  so  far  off,  drawn  up  in  battle  array.  They  profited 
by  the  extent  of  ground  left  to  them,  crossed  the  brook 
at  nearly  every  point,  formed  themselves  in  several  lines 
on  the  side  to  which  they  crossed,  and  then  extended 
themselves  at  their  ease,  without  receiving  the  slightest 
opposition.  This  is  exact  truth,  but  without  any  appear- 
ance of  being  so;  and  posterity  will  with  difficulty  believe 
it.  It  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  before  all  these  disposi- 
tions, which  our  troops  saw  made  without  moving,  were 
completed.  Prince  Eugene  with  his  army  had  the  right; 
the  Duke  of  Marlborough  the  left.  The  latter  thus 
opposed  to  the  forces  of  Tallard,  and  Prince  Eugene  to 
those  of  Marsin. 

The  battle  commenced;  and  in  one  part  was  so  far 
favorable  to  us  that  the  attack  of  Prince  Eugene  was  re- 
pulsed by  Marsin,  who  might  have  profited  by  the  circum- 
stance but  for  the  unfortunate  position  of  our  right. 
Two  things  contributed  to  place  us  at  a  disadvantage. 
The  second  line,  separated  by  the  quagmire  I  have  alluded 
to  from  the  first  line,  could  not  sustain  it  properly;  and 
in  consequence  of  the  long  bend  it  was  necessary  to  make 
round  this  quagmire,  neither  line,  after  receiving  or 
making  a  charge,  could  retire  quickly  to  rally  and  return 
again  to  the  attack.  As  for  the  infantry,  the  twenty-six 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  305 

battalions  shut  up  in  Blenheim  left  a  great  gap  in  it  that 
could  not  fail  to  be  felt.  The  English,  who  soon  perceived 
the  advantage  they  might  obtain  from  this  want  of  in- 
fantry, and  from  the  difficulty  with  which  our  cavalry  of 
the  right  was  rallied,  profited  by  these  circumstances  with 
the  readiness  of  people  who  have  plenty  of  ground  at  their 
diposal.  They  redoubled  their  charges,  and  to  say  all  in 
one  word,  they  defeated  at  their  first  attack  all  this  army, 
notwithstanding  the  efforts  of  our  general  officers  and  of 
several  regiments  to  repel  them.  The  army  of  the  Elector, 
entirely  unsupported,  and  taken  in  flank  by  the  English, 
wavered  in  its  turn.  All  the  valor  of  the  Bavarians,  all 
the  prodigies  of  the  Elector,  were  unable  to  remedy  the 
effects  of  this  wavering.  Thus  was  seen,  at  one  and  the 
same  time,  the  army  of  Tallard  beaten  and  thrown  into 
the  utmost  disorder;  that  of  the  Elector  sustaining  itself 
with  great  intrepidity,  but  already  in  retreat ;  and  that  of 
Marsin  charging  and  gaining  ground  upon  Prince  Eugene. 
It  was  not  until  Marsin  learned  of  the  defeat  of  Tallard 
and  of  the  Elector,  that  he  ceased  to  pursue  his  advan- 
tages, and  commenced  his  retreat.  This  retreat  he  was 
able  to  make  without  being  pursued. 

In  the  meantime  the  troops  in  Blenheim  had  been 
twice  attacked,  and  had  twice  repulsed  the  enemy. 
Tallard  had  given  orders  to  these  troops  on  no  account 
to  leave  their  positions,  nor  to  allow  a  single  man  even 
to  quit  them.  Now,  seeing  his  army  defeated  and  in 
flight,  he  wished  to  countermand  these  orders.  He  was 
riding  in  hot  haste  to  Blenheim  to  do  so,  with  only  two 
attendants,  when  all  three  were  surrounded,  recognized, 
and  taken  prisoners. 

These  troops  shut  up  in  Blenheim  had  been  left  under 
the  command  of  Blansac,  camp  marshal,  and  Clerembault, 
lieutenant  general.  During  the  battle  this  latter  was 
missed,  and  could  nowhere  be  found.  It  was  known 
afterward  that,  for  fear  of  being  killed,  he  had  endeavored 
to  escape  across  the  Danube  on  horseback  attended  by  a 
single  valet.  The  valet  passed  over  the  river  in  safety, 
but  his  master  went  to  the  bottom.  Blansac,  thus  left 
alone  in  command,  was  much  troubled  by  the  disorders 
he  saw  and  heard,  and  by  the  want  which  he  felt  of  fresh 

20 


306  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

orders.  He  sent  a  messenger  to  Tallard  for  instructions 
how  to  act,  but  his  messenger  was  stopped  on  the  road, 
and  taken  prisoner.  I  only  repeat  what  Blansac  himself 
reported  in  his  defense,  which  was  equally  ill  received 
by  the  King  and  the  public,  but  which  had  no  contra- 
dicters,  for  nobody  was  witness  of  what  took  place  at 
Blenheim  except  those  actually  there,  and  they  all,  the 
principals  at  least,  agreed  in  their  story.  What  some  of 
the  soldiers  said  was  not  of  a  kind  that  could  altogether 
be  relied  upon. 

While  Blansac  was  in  this  trouble,  he  saw  Denonville, 
one  of  our  officers  who  had  been  taken  prisoner,  coming 
toward  the  village,  accompanied  by  an  officer  who  waved 
a  handkerchief  in  the  air  and  demanded  a  parley.  De- 
nonville was  a  young  man,  very  handsome  and  well 
made,  who  being  a  great  favorite  with  Monseigneur  le 
Due  de  Bourgogne  had  become  presumptuous  and  some- 
what audacious.  Instead  of  speaking  in  private  to  Blansac 
and  the  other  principal  officers  —  since  he  had  undertaken 
so  strange  a  mission  —  Denonville,  who  had  some  intel- 
lect, plenty  of  fine  talk,  and  a  mighty  opinion  of  himself, 
set  to  work  haranguing  the  troops,  trying  to  persuade 
them  to  surrender  themselves  prisoners  of  war,  so  that 
they  might  preserve  themselves  for  the  service  of  the 
King.  Blansac,  who  saw  the  wavering  this  caused  among 
the  troops,  sharply  told  Denonville  to  hold  his  tongue, 
and  began  himself  to  harangue  the  troops  in  a  contrary 
spirit.  But  it  was  too  late.  The  mischief  was  done. 
Only  one  regiment,  that  of  Navarre,  applauded  him,  all 
the  rest  maintained  a  dull  silence.  I  remind  my  readers 
that  it  is  Blansac's  version  of  the  story  I  am  giving. 

Soon  after  Denonville  and  his  companion  had  returned 
to  the  enemy,  an  English  lord  came,  demanding  a  parley 
with  the  commandant.  He  was  admitted  to  Blansac,  to 
whom  he  said  that  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  had  sent 
him  to  say,  that  he  had  forty  battalions  and  sixty  pieces 
of  cannon  at  his  disposal,  with  reinforcements  to  any 
extent  at  command;  that  he  should  surround  the  village 
on  all  sides:  that  the  army  of  Tallard  was  in  flight,  and 
the  remains  of  that  of  the  Elector  in  retreat;  that  Tal- 
lard and  many  general  officers  were  prisoners;  that 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  307 

Blansac  could  hope  for  no  reinforcements;  and  that, 
therefore,  he  had  better  at  once  make  an  honorable 
capitulation,  and  surrender  himself  with  all  his  men 
prisoners  of  war,  than  attempt  a  struggle  in  which  he 
was  sure  to  be  worsted  with  great  loss.  Blansac  wanted 
to  dismiss  this  messenger  at  once,  but  the  Englishman 
pressed  him  to  advance  a  few  steps  out  of  the  village, 
and  see  with  his  own  eyes  the  defeat  of  the  Electoral 
army,  and  the  preparations  that  were  made  on  the  other 
side  to  continue  the  battle.  Blansac  accordingly,  attended 
by  one  of  his  officers,  followed  this  lord,  and  was  as- 
tounded to  see  with  his  own  eyes  that  all  he  had  just 
heard  was  true.  Returned  into  Blenheim,  Blansac  assem- 
bled all  his  principal  officers,  made  them  acquainted  with 
the  proposition  that  had  been  made,  and  told  them  what 
he  had  himself  seen.  Every  one  comprehended  what  a 
frightful  shock  it  would  be  for  the  country  when  it 
learned  that  they  had  surrendered  themselves  prisoners  of 
war;  but  all  things  well  considered,  it  was  thought  best 
to  accept  these  terms,  and  so  preserve  to  the  King  the 
twenty-six  battalions  and  the  twelve  squadrons  of  dra- 
goons who  were  there.  This  terrible  capitulation  was  at 
once,  therefore,  drawn  up  and  signed  by  Blansac,  the 
general  officers,  and  the  heads  of  every  corps  except  that 
of  Navarre,  which  was  thus  the  sole  which  refused. 

The  number  of  prisoners  that  fell  to  the  enemy  in 
this  battle  was  infinite.  The  Duke  of  Malborough  took 
charge  of  the  most  distinguished,  until  he  could  carry 
them  away  to  England,  to  grace  his  triumph  there.  He 
treated  them  all,  even  the  humblest,  with  the  utmost 
attention,  consideration,  and  politeness,  and  with  a 
modesty  that  did  him  even  more  honor  than  his  victory. 
Those  that  came  under  the  charge  of  Prince  Louis  of 
Baden  were  much  less  kindly  treated. 

The  King  received  the  cruel  news  of  this  battle  on 
the  2ist  of  August,  by  a  courier  from  the  Mare*chal  de 
Villeroy.  By  this  courier  the  King  learned  that  a  battle 
had  taken  place  on  the  i3th;  had  lasted  from  eight 
o'clock  in  the  morning  until  evening;  that  the  entire 
army  of  Tallard  was  killed  or  taken  prisoners;  that  it 
was  not  known  what  had  become  of  Tallard  himself,  or 


3o8  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

whether  the  Elector  and  Marsin  had  been  at  the  action. 
The  private  letters  that  arrived  were  all  opened  to  see 
what  news  they  contained,  but  no  fresh  information  could 
be  got  from  them.  For  six  days  the  King  remained 
in  this  uncertainty  as  to  the  real  losses  that  had  been 
sustained.  Everybody  was  afraid  to  write  bad  news;  all 
the  letters  which  from  time  to  time  arrived  gave,  there- 
fore, but  an  unsatisfactory  account  of  what  had  taken 
place.  The  King  used  every  means  in  his  power  to 
obtain  some  news.  Every  post  that  came  in  was  exam- 
ined by  him,  but  there  was  little  found  to  satisfy  him. 
Neither  the  King  nor  anybody  else  could  understand, 
from  what  had  reached  them,  how  it  was  that  an  entire 
army  had  been  placed  inside  a  village,  and  had  sur- 
rended  itself  by  a  signed  capitulation.  It  puzzled  every 
brain.  At  last  the  details,  that  had  oozed  out  little  by 
little,  augmented  to  a  perfect  stream,  by  the  arrival  of 
one  of  our  officers,  who,  taken  prisoner,  had  been  allowed 
by  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  to  go  to  Paris  to  relate  to 
the  King  the  misfortune  that  had  happened  to  him. 

We  were  not  accustomed  to  misfortunes.  This  one, 
very  reasonably,  was  utterly  unexpected.  It  seemed  in 
every  way  the  result  of  bad  generalship,  of  an  unjustifi- 
able disposition  of  troops,  and  of  a  series  of  gross  and 
incredible  errors.  The  commotion  was  general.  There 
was  scarcely  an  illustrious  family  that  had  not  had  one 
of  its  members  killed,  wounded,  or  taken  prisoner.  Other 
families  were  in  the  same  case.  The  public  sorrow  and 
indignation  burst  out  without  restraint.  Nobody  who 
had  taken  part  in  this  humiliation  was  spared;  the  gen- 
erals and  the  private  soldiers  alike  came  in  for  blame. 
Denonville  was  ignominiously  broken  for  the  speech  he 
had  made  at  Blenheim.  The  generals,  however,  were 
entirely  let  off.  All  the  punishment  fell  upon  certain 
regiments,  which  were  broken,  and  upon  certain  unim- 
portant officers  —  the  guilty  and  innocent  mixed  together. 
The  outcry  was  universal.  The  grief  of  the  King  at  this 
ignominy  and  this  loss,  at  the  moment  when  he  imag- 
ined that  the  fate  of  the  Emperor  was  in  his  hands,  may 
be  imagined.  At  a  time  when  he  might  have  counted 
upon  striking  a  decisive  blow,  he  saw  himself  reduced  to 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  309 

act  simply  on  the  defensive,  in  order  to  preserve  his 
troops;  and  had  to  repair  the  loss  of  an  entire  army, 
killed  or  taken  prisoners.  The  sequel  showed  not  less 
that  the  hand  of  God  was  weighty  upon  us.  All  judg- 
ment was  lost.  We  trembled  even  in  the  midst  of  Alsace. 

In  the  midst  of  all  this  public  sorrow,  the  rejoicings 
and  the  fetes  for  the  birth  of  the  Due  de  Bretagne,  son 
of  Monseigneur  le  Due  de  Bourgogne,  were  not  discon- 
tinued. The  city  gave  a  firework  fete  upon  the  river, 
that  Monseigneur,  the  princes,  his  sons,  and  Madame  la 
Duchess  de  Bourgogne,  with  many  ladies  and  courtiers, 
came  to  see  from  the  windows  of  the  Louvre,  magnifi- 
cent cheer  and  refreshments  being  provided  for  them. 
This  was  a  contrast  which  irritated  the  people,  who  would 
not  understand  that  it  was  meant  for  magnanimity.  A 
few  days  afterward  the  King  gave  an  illumination  and  a 
f£te  at  Marly,  to  which  the  Court  of  St.  Germain  was 
invited,  and  which  was  all  in  honor  of  Madame  la  Duch- 
ess de  Bourgogne.  He  thanked  the  Prevot  des  Marc  hands 
for  the  fireworks  iipon  the  river,  and  said  that  Monsei- 
gneur and  Madame  had  found  them  very  beautiful. 

Shortly  after  this,  I  received  a  letter  from  one  of  my 
friends,  the  Due  de  Montfort,  who  had  always  been  in 
the  army  of  the  Marechal  de  Villeroy.  He  sent  word  to 
me,  that  upon  his  return  he  intended  to  break  his  sword, 
and  retire  from  the  army.  His  letter  was  writen  in  such 
a  despairing  tone  that,  fearing  lest  with  his  burning 
courage  he  might  commit  some  martial  folly,  I  conjured 
him  not  to  throw  himself  into  danger  for  the  sake  of 
being  killed.  It  seemed  that  I  had  anticipated  his  inten- 
tions. A  convoy  of  money  was  to  be  sent  to  Landau. 
Twice  he  asked  to  be  allowed  to  take  charge  of  this 
convoy,  and  twice  he  was  told  it  was  too  insignificant  a 
charge  for  a  camp  marshal  to  undertake.  The  third  time 
that  he  asked  this  favor,  he  obtained  it  by  pure  impor- 
tunity. He  carried  the  money  safely  into  Landau,  with- 
out meeting  with  any  obstacle.  On  his  return  he  saw 
some  hussars  roving  about.  Without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion he  resolved  to  give  chase  to  them.  He  was  with 
difficulty  restrained  for  some  time,  and  at  last,  breaking 
away,  he  set  off  to  attack  them,  followed  by  only  two 


310      MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

officers.  The  hussars  dispersed  themselves,  and  re- 
treated; the  Due  de  Montfort  followed  them,  rode  into 
the  midst  of  them,  was  surrounded  on  all  sides,  and 
soon  received  a  blow  which  overturned  him.  In  a  few 
moments  after,  being  carried  off  by  his  men,  he  died, 
having  only  had  time  to  confess  himself,  and  to  arrive  at 
his  quarters.  He  was  infinitely  regretted  by  everybody 
who  had  known  him.  The  grief  of  his  family  may  be 
imagined. 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

Naval  Battle  of  Malaga  —  Danger  of  Gibraltar  —  Duke  of  Mantua  in 
Search  of  a  Wife  — Duchess  de  Lesdiguieres —  Strange  Intrigues — 
Mademoiselle  d'Elboeuf  Carries  off  the  Prize  —  A  Curious  Marriage 
—  Its  Result  —  History  of  a  Conversion  to  Catholicism  —  Attempted 
Assassination  —  Singular  Seclusion. 

THE  King  did  not  long  remain  without  some  consolation 
for  the  loss  of  the  battle  of  Hochstedt  (  Blenheim). 
The  Comte  de  Toulouse  —  very  different  in  every 
respect  from  his  brother,  the  Due  de  Maine  —  was  wearied 
with  cruising  in  the  Mediterranean,  without  daring  to 
attack  enemies  that  were  too  strong  for  him.  He  had, 
therefore,  obtained  reinforcements  this  year,  so  that  he 
was  in  a  state  to  measure  his  forces  with  any  opponent. 
The  English  fleet  was  under  the  command  of  Admiral 
Rooke.  The  Comte  de  Toulouse  wished  above  all  things 
to  attack.  He  asked  permission  to  do  so,  and,  the  per- 
mission being  granted,  he  set  about  his  enterprise.  He 
met  the  fleet  of  Admiral  Rooke  near  Malaga,  on  the  24th 
of  September  of  this  year,  and  fought  with  it  from  ten 
o'clock  in  the  morning  until  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening. 
The  fleets,  as  far  as  the  number  of  vessels  was  con- 
cerned, were  nearly  equal.  So  furious  or  so  obstinate  a 
sea  fight  had  not  been  seen  for  a  long  time.  They  had 
always  the  wind  upon  our  fleet,  yet  all  the  advantage 
was  on  the  side  of  the  Comte  de  Toulouse,  who  could 
boast  that  he  had  obtained  the  victory,  and  whose  vessel 
fought  that  of  Rooke,  dismasted  it,  and  pursued  it  all  next 
day  toward  the  coast  of  Barbary,  where  the  Admiral 
retired.  The  enemy  lost  six  thousand  men;  the  ship  of 
the  Dutch  Vice-Admiral  was  blown  up;  several  others 
were  sunk,  and  some  dismasted.  Our  fleet  lost  neither 
ship  nor  mast,  but  the  victory  cost  the  lives  of  many 
distinguished  people,  in  addition  to  those  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred soldiers  or  sailors  killed  or  wounded. 

(3n) 


3i2  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

Toward  evening  on  the  25th,  by  dint  of  manoeuvres, 
aided  by  the  wind,  our  fleet  came  up  again  with  that  of 
Rooke.  The  Comte  de  Toulouse  was  for  attacking  it 
again  on  the  morrow,  and  showed  that  if  the  attack  were 
successful,  Gibraltar  would  be  the  first  result  of  the 
victory.  That  famous  place,  which  commands  the  im- 
portant strait  of  the  same  name,  had  been  allowed  to- 
fall  into  neglect,  and  was  defended  by  a  miserable  garri- 
son of  forty  men.  In  this  state  it  had  of  course  easily 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  the  enemies.  But  they  had  not 
yet  had  time  to  man  it  with  a  much  superior  force,  and 
Admiral  Rooke  once  defeated,  it  must  have  surrendered 
to  us. 

The  Comte  de  Toulouse  urged  his  advice  with  all  the 
energy  of  which  he  was  capable,  and  he  was  supported 
in  opinion  by  others  of  more  experience  than  himself. 
But  D'O,  the  mentor  of  the  fleet,  against  whose  counsel 
he  had  been  expressly  ordered  by  the  King  never  to  act, 
opposed  the  project  of  another  attack  with  such  disdain- 
ful determination,  that  the  Comte  had  no  course  open 
but  to  give  way.  The  annoyance  which  this  caused 
throughout  the  fleet  was  very  great.  It  soon  was  known 
what  would  have  become  of  the  enemy's  fleet  had  it  been 
attacked,  and  that  Gibraltar  would  have  been  found  in 
exactly  the  same  state  as  when  abandoned.  The  Comte 
de  Toulouse  acquired  great  honor  in  this  campaign,  and 
his  stupid  teacher  lost  little,  because  he  had  little  to  lose. 

M.  de  Mantua  having  surrendered  his  state  to  the 
King,  thereby  rendering  us  a  most  important  service  in 
Italy,  found  himself  ill  at  ease  in  his  territory,  which 
had  become  the  theater  of  war,  and  had  come  incognito 
to  Paris.  He  had  apartments  provided  for  him  in  the 
Luxembourg,  furnished  magnificently  with  the  Crown 
furniture,  and  was  very  graciously  received  by  the  King. 
The  principal  object  of  his  journey  was  to  marry  some 
French  lady ;  and  as  he  made  no  secret  of  this  intention, 
more  than  one  plot  was  laid  in  order  to  provide  him 
with  a  wife.  M.  de  Vaudemont,  intent  upon  aggrandiz- 
ing the  house  of  Lorraine,  wished  M.  de  Mantua  to 
marry  a  member  of  that  family,  and  fixed  upon  Made- 
moiselle d'Elbceuf  for  his  bride.  The  Lorraines  did  all 


DUKE    OF    SAINT-SIMON  313 

in  their  power  to  induce  M.  de  Mantua  to  accept  her. 
But  M.  le  Prince  had  also  his  designs  in  this  matter. 
He  had  a  daughter,  whom  he  knew  not  how  to  get  off 
his  hands,  and  he  thought  that  in  more  ways  than  one 
it  would  be  to  his  advantage  to  marry  her  to  the  Duke 
of  Mantua.  He  explained  his  views  to  the  King,  who 
gave  him  permission  to  follow  them  out,  and  promised 
to  serve  him  with  all  his  protection.  But  when  the  sub- 
ject was  broached  to  M.  de  Mantua,  he  declined  this 
match  in  such  a  respectful,  yet  firm,  manner  that  M.  le 
Prince  felt  he  must  abandon  all  hope  of  carrying  it  out. 
The  Lorraines  were  not  more  successful  in  their  designs. 
When  M.  de  Vaudemont  had  first  spoken  of  Mademoiselle 
d'Elboeuf,  M.  de  Mantua  had  appeared  to  listen  favor- 
ably. This  was  in  Italy.  Now  that  he  was  in  Paris  he 
acted  very  differently.  It  was  in  vain  that  Mademoiselle 
d'Elboeuf  was  thrust  in  his  way,  as  though  by  chance, 
at  the  promenades,  in  the  churches;  her  beauty,  which 
might  have  touched  many  others,  made  no  impression 
upon  him.  The  fact  was  that  M.  de  Mantua,  even  long 
before  leaving  his  state,  had  fixed  upon  a  wife. 

Supping  one  evening  with  the  Due  de  Lesdiguieres,  a 
little  before  the  death  of  the  latter,  he  saw  a  ring  with 
a  portrait  in  it,  upon  the  Duke's  finger.  He  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  look  at  the  portrait,  was  charmed  with  it, 
and  said  he  should  be  very  happy  to  have  such  a  beau- 
tiful mistress.  The  Duke  at  this  burst  out  laughing,  and 
said  it  was  the  portrait  of  his  wife.  As  soon  as  the  Due 
de  Lesdiguieres  was  dead,  M.  de  Mantua  thought  only 
of  marrying  the  young  widowed  duchess.  He  sought  her 
everywhere  when  he  arrived  in  Paris,  but  without  being 
able  to  find  her,  because  she  was  in  the  first  year  of  her 
widowhood.  He  therefore  unbosomed  himself  to  Torcy, 
who  reported  the  matter  to  the  King.  The  King  ap- 
proved of  the  design  of  M.  de  Mantua,  and  charged  the 
Mare"chal  de  Duras  to  speak  to  the  Duchess  de  Lesdi- 
guieres, who  was  his  daughter.  The  Duchess  was  equally 
surprised  and  afflicted  when  she  learned  what  was  in 
progress.  She  testified  to  her  father  her  repugnance  to 
abandon  herself  to  the  caprices  and  the  jealousy  of  an 
old  Italian  ddbauche;  the  horror  she  felt  at  the  idea  of 


314  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

being  left  alone  with  him  in  Italy;  and  the  reasonable 
fear  she  had  of  her  health  with  a  man  whose  own  could 
not  be  good. 

I  was  promptly  made  acquainted  with  this  affair;  for 
Madame  de  Lesdiguieres  and  Madame  de  Saint-Simon 
were  on  the  most  intimate  terms.  I  did  everything  in  my 
power  to  persuade  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres  to  consent 
to  the  match,  insisting  at  once  on  her  family  posi- 
tion, on  the  reason  of  state,  and  on  the  pleasure  of  oust- 
ing Madame  d'Elboeuf, — but  it  was  all  in  vain.  I  never 
•saw  such  firmness.  Pontchartrain,  who  came  and  rea- 
soned with  her,  was  even  less  successful  than  I,  for  he 
excited  her  by  threats  and  menaces.  M.  le  Prince  him- 
self supported  us  —  having  no  longer  any  hope  for  himself, 
and  fearing,  above  all  things,  M.  de  Mantua's  mar- 
riage with  a  Lorraine  —  and  did  all  he  could  to  persuade 
Madame  de  Lesdiguieres  to  give  in.  I  renewed  my  efforts 
in  the  same  direction,  but  with  no  better  success  than 
before.  Nevertheless,  M.  de  Mantua,  irritated  by  not 
being  able  to  see  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres,  resolved  to 
go  and  wait  for  her  on  a  Sunday  at  the  Minimes.  He 
found  her  shut  up  in  a  chapel,  and  drew  near  the  door 
in  order  to  see  her  as  she  went  out.  He  was  not  much 
gratified;  her  thick  crape  veil  was  lowered;  it  was  with 
difficulty  he  could  get  a  glance  at  her.  Resolved  to  suc- 
ceed, he  spoke  to  Torcy,  intimating  that  Madame  de  Les- 
diguieres ought  not  to  refuse  such  a  slight  favor  as  to 
allow  herself  to  be  seen  in  a  church.  Torcy  communi- 
cated this  to  the  King,  who  sent  word  to  Madame  de 
Lesdiguieres  that  she  must  consent  to  the  favor  M.  de 
Mantua  demanded.  She  could  not  refuse  after  this. 
M.  de  Mantua  went  accordingly,  and  waited  for  her  in 
the  same  place,  where  he  had  once  already  so  badly  seen 
her.  He  found  her  in  the  chapel,  and  drew  near  the 
door,  as  before.  She  came  out,  her  veil  raised,  passed 
lightly  before  him,  made  him  a  sliding  courtesy  as  she 
glided  by,  in  reply  to  his  bow,  and  reached  her  coach. 

M.  de  Mantua  was  charmed:  he  redoubled  his  efforts 
with  the  King  and  M.  de  Duras ;  the  matter  was  discussed 
in  full  council,  like  an  affair  of  state  —  indeed  it  WAS  one ;  and 
it  was  resolved  to  amuse  M.  de  Mantua,  and  yet  at  the 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  315 

same  time  to  do  everything  to  vanquish  this  resistance 
of  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres,  except  employing  the  full 
authority  of  the  King,  which  the  King  himself  did  not 
wish  to  exert.  Everything  was  promised  to  her  on  the 
part  of  the  King:  that  it  should  be  his  Majesty  who 
would  make  the  stipulations  of  the  marriage  contract; 
that  it  should  be  his  Majesty  who  would  give  her  a  dowry, 
and  would  guarantee  her  return  to  France  if  she  became 
a  widow,  and  assure  her  of  his  protection  while  she  re- 
mained a  wife:  in  one  word,  everything  was  tried,  and 
in  the  gentlest  and  most  honorable  manner,  to  persuade 
her.  Her  mother  lent  us  her  house  one  afternoon,  in 
order  that  we  might  speak  more  at  length  and  more  at 
our  ease  there  to  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres  than  we  could 
at  the  Hotel  de  Duras.  We  only  gained  a  torrent  of 
tears  for  our  pains. 

A  few  days  after  this,  I  was  very  much  astonishsd  to 
hear  Chamillart  relate  to  me  all  that  had  passed  at  this 
interview.  I  learned  afterward  that  Madame  de  Lesdi- 
guieres, fearing  that  if,  entirely  unsupported,  she  persisted 
in  her  refusal,  it  might  draw  upon  her  the  anger  of  the 
King,  had  begged  Chamillart  to  implore  his  Majesty  not 
to  insist  upon  this  marriage.  M.  de  Mantua  hearing  this, 
turned  his  thoughts  elsewhere;  and  she  was  at  last  de- 
livered of  a  pursuit  which  had'  become  a  painful  persecu- 
tion to  her.  Chamillart  served  her  so  well  that  the  affair 
came  to  an  end;  and  the  King,  flattered  perhaps  by  the 
desire  this  young  Duchess  showed  to  remain  his  subject 
instead  of  becoming  a  sovereign,  passed  a  eulogium  upon 
her  the  same  evening  in  his  cabinet  to  his  family  and  to 
the  Princesses,  by  whom  it  was  spread  abroad  through 
society. 

I  may  as  well  finish  this  matter  at  once.  The  Lor- 
raines,  who  had  watched  very  closely  the  affair  up  to  this 
point,  took  hope  again  directly  they  heard  of  the  resolu- 
tion M.  de  Mantua  had  formed  to  abandon  his  pursuit 
of  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres.  They,  in  their  turn,  were 
closely  watched  by  M.  le  Prince,  who  so  excited  the  King 
against  them,  that  Madame  d'Elbceuf  received  orders 
from  him  not  to  continue  pressing  her  suit  upon  M.  de 
Mantua.  That  did  not  stop  them.  They  felt  that  the 


316  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

King  would  not  interfere  with  them  by  an  express  pro- 
hibition, and  sure,  by  past  experience,  on  being  on  better 
terms  with  him  afterward  than  before,  they  pursued  their 
object  with  obstinacy.  By  dint  of  much  plotting  and 
scheming,  and  by  the  aid  of  their  creatures,  they  contrived 
to  overcome  the  repugnance  of  M.  de  Mantua  to  Mademoi- 
selle d'Elboeuf,  which  at  bottom  could  be  only  caprice  — 
her  beauty,  her  figure,  and  her  birth  taken  into  account. 
But  Mademoiselle  d'Elboeuf,  in  her  turn,  was  as  opposed 
to  marriage  with  M.  de  Mantua  as  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres 
had  been.  She  was,  however,  brought  round  ere  long, 
and  then  the  consent  of  the  King  was  the  only  thing  left 
to  be  obtained.  The  Lorraines  made  use  of  their  usual 
suppleness  in  order  to  gain  that.  They  represented  the 
impolicy  of  interfering  with  the  selection  of  a  sovereign 
who  was  the  ally  of  France,  and  who  wished  to  select  a 
wife  from  among  her  subjects,  and  succeeded  so  well, 
that  the  King  determined  to  become  neutral;  that  is  to 
say,  neither  to  prohibit  nor  to  sanction  this  match.  M.  le 
Prince  was  instrumental  in  inducing  the  King  to  take 
this  neutral  position;  and  he  furthermore  caused  the 
stipulation  to  be  made,  that  it  should  not  be  celebrated  in 
France,  but  at  Mantua. 

After  parting  with  the  King,  M.  de  Mantua,  on  the 
2ist  of  September,  went  to  Nemours,  slept  there,  and 
then  set  out  for  Italy.  At  the  same  time  Madame  and 
Mademoiselle  d'Elboeuf,  with  Madame  de  Pompadour, 
sister  of  the  former,  passed  through  Fontainebleau  with- 
out going  to  see  a  soul,  and  followed  their  prey  lest  he 
should  change  his  mind  and  escape  them  —  until  the 
road  he  was  to  take  branched  off  from  that  they  were  to 
go  by;  he  in  fact  intending  to  travel  by  sea  and  they 
by  land.  On  the  way  their  fears  redoubled.  Arrived  at 
Nevers,  and  lodged  in  an  hostelry,  they  thought  it  would 
not  be  well  to  commit  themselves  further  without  more 
certain  security.  Madame  de  Pompadour  therefore  pro- 
posed to  M.  de  Mantua  not  to  delay  his  happiness  any 
longer,  but  to  celebrate  his  marriage  at  once.  He  de- 
fended himself  as  well  as  he  could,  but  was  at  last 
obliged  to  give  in.  During  this  indecent  dispute,  the 
Bishop  was  sent  to.  He  had  just  died,  and  the  Grand 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  317 

Vicar,  not  knowing  what  might  be  the  wishes  of  the  King 
upon  this  marriage,  refused  to  celebrate  it.  The  chap- 
lain was  therefore  appealed  to,  and  he  at  once  married 
Mademoiselle  d'Elboeuf  to  M.  de  Mantua  in  the  hotel. 
As  soon  as  the  ceremony  was  over  Madame  d'Elboeuf 
wished  to  leave  her  daughter  alone  with  M.  de  Man- 
tua, and  although  he  strongly  objected  to  this,  every- 
body quitted  the  room,  leaving  only  the  newly 
married  couple  there,  and  Madame  de  Pompadour  out- 
side upon  the  step  listening  to  what  passed  between 
them.  But  finding  after  a  while  that  both  were  very 
much  embarrassed,  and  that  M.  de  Mantua  did  little  but 
cry  out  for  the  company  to  return,  she  conferred  with 
her  sister,  and  they  agreed  to  give  him  his  liberty.  Im- 
mediately he  had  obtained  it,  he  mounted  his  horse,  though 
it  was  not  early,  and  did  not  sse  them  again  until  they 
.reached  Italy  —  though  all  went  the  same  road  as  far 
as  Lyons.  The  news  of  this  strange  celebration  of 
marriage  was  soon  spread  abroad  with  all  the  ridicule 
which  attached  to  it. 

The  King  was  very  much  annoyed  when  he  learned  that 
his  orders  had  been  thus  disobeyed.  The  Lorraines  plas- 
tered over  the  affair  by  representing  that  they  feared  an 
affront  from  M.  de  Mantua,  and  indeed  it  did  not  seem 
at  all  unlikely  that  M.  de  Mantua,  forced  as  it  were  into 
compliance  with  their  wishes,  might  have  liked  nothing 
better  than  to  reach  Italy  and  then  laugh  at  them. 
Meanwhile,  Madame  d'Elboeuf  and  her  daughter  embarked 
on  board  the  royal  galleys  and  started  for  Italy.  On  the 
way  they  were  fiercely  chased  by  some  African  Corsairs, 
and  it  is  a  great  pity  they  were  not  taken  to  finish  the 
romance. 

However,  upon  arriving  in  Italy,  the  marriage  was  again 
celebrated,  this  time  with  all  the  forms  necessary  for  the 
occasion.  But  Madame  d'Elboeuf  had  no  cause  to  rejoice 
that  she  had  succeeded  in  thus  disposing  of  her  daughter. 
The  new  Duchess  de  Mantua  was  guarded  by  her  hus- 
band with  the  utmost  jealousy.  She  was  not  allowed  to 
see  anybody  except  her  mother,  and  that  only  for  an  hour 
each  day.  Her  women  entered  her  apartment  only  to 
dress  and  undress  her.  The  Duke  walled  up  very  high  all 


3i8  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

the  windows  of  his  house,  and  caused  his  wife  to  be 
guarded  by  old  women.  She  passed  her  days  thus  in  a 
cruel  prison.  This  treatment,  which  I  did  not  expect, 
and  the  little  consideration,  not  to  say  contempt  shown  here 
for  M.  de  Mantua  since  his  departure,  consoled  me  much 
for  the  invincible  obstinacy  of  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres. 
Six  months  after,  Madame  d'Elboeuf  returned,  beside  her- 
self with  vexation ;  but  too  vain  to  show  it.  She  disguised 
the  misfortune  of  her  daughter,  and  appeared  to  be 
offended  if  it  was  spoken  of;  but  all  our  letters  from  the 
army  showed  that  the  news  was  true.  The  strangest 
thing  of  all  is,  that  the  Lorraines  after  this  journey  were 
as  well  treated  by  the  King  as  if  they  had  never  under- 
taken it ;  a  fact  which  shows  their  art  and  ascendency. 

I  have  dwelt  too  long  perhaps  upon  this  matter.  It 
appeared  to  me  to  merit  attention  by  its  singularity,  and 
still  more  so  because  it  is  by  facts  of  this  sort  that  is 
shown  what  was  the  composition  of  the  Court  of  the 
King. 

About  this  time  the  Comtesse  d'Auvergne  finished  a 
short  life  by  an  illness  very  strange  and  uncommon. 
When  she  married  the  Comte  d'Auvergne  she  was  a 
Huguenot,  and  he  much  wanted  to  make  her  turn  Catholic. 
A  famous  advocate  of  that  time,  who  was  named  Chardon, 
had  been  a  Huguenot,  and  his  wife  also;  they  had  made 
a  semblance,  however,  of  abjuring,  but  made  no  open 
profession  of  Catholicism.  Chardon  was  sustained  by  his 
great  reputation,  and  by  the  number  of  protectors  he  had 
made  for  himself.  One  morning  he  and  his  wife  were 
in  their  coach  before  the  Hotel  Dieu,  waiting  for  a  reply 
that  their  lackey  was  a  very  long  time  in  bringing  them. 
Madame  Chardon  glanced  by  chance  upon  the  grand 
portal  of  Notre  Dame,  and  little  by  little  fell  into  a 
profound  reverie,  which  might  be  better  called  reflection. 
Her  husband,  who  at  last  perceived  this,  asked  her  what 
had  sent  her  into  such  deep  thought,  and  pushed  her 
elbow  even  to  draw  a  reply  from  her.  She  told  him 
then  what  she  was  thinking  about.  Pointing  to  Notre 
Dame,  she  said  that  it  was  many  centuries  before  Luther 
and  Calvin  that  those  images  of  saints  had  been  sculptured 
over  that  portal;  that  this  proved  that  saints  had  long 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  319 

since  been  invoked;  the  opposition  of  the  reformers  to 
this  ancient  opinion  was  a  novelty;  that  this  novelty 
rendered  suspicious  other  dogmas  against  the  antiquity 
of  Catholicism  that  they  taught;  that  these  reflections, 
which  she  had  never  before  made,  gave  her  much  dis- 
quietude, and  made  her  form  the  resolution  to  seek  to 
enlighten  herself. 

Chardon  thought  his  wife  right,  and  from  that  day 
they  laid  themselves  out  to  seek  the  truth,  then  to  con- 
sult, then  to  be  instructed.  This  lasted  a  year,  and  then 
they  made  a  new  abjuration,  and  both  ever  afterward 
passed  their  lives  in  zeal  and  good  works.  Madame 
Chardon  converted  many  Huguenots.  The  Comte  d'Au- 
vergne  took  his  wife  to  her.  The  Comtesse  was  con- 
verted by  her,  and  became  a  very  good  Catholic.  When 
she  died  she  was  extremely  regretted  by  all  the  relatives 
of  her  husband,  although  at  first  they  had  looked  upon 
her  coldly. 

In  the  month  of  this  September,  a  strange  attempt  at 
assassination  occurred.  Vervins  had  been  forced  into 
many  suits  against  his  relatives,  and  was  upon  the  point 
of  gaining  all  of  them,  when  one  of  his  cousins-german, 
who  called  himself  the  Abbe*  de  Pre  caused  him  to  be 
attacked  as  he  passed  in  his  coach  along  the  Quai  de  la 
Tournelle,  before  the  community  of  Madame  de  Mira- 
mion.  Vervins  was  wounded  with  several  sword  cuts, 
and  also  his  coachman,  who  wished  to  defend  him.  In 
consequence  of  the  complaint  Vervins  made,  the  Abb6 
escaped  abroad,  whence  he  never  returned,  and  soon 
after,  his  crime  being  proved,  was  condemned  to  be 
broken  alive  on  the  wheel.  Vervins  had  long  been  men- 
aced with  an  attack  by  the  Abbe".  Vervins  was  an  agree- 
able, well-made  man,  but  very  idle.  He  had  entered 
the  army;  but  quitted  it  soon,  and  retired  to  his  estates 
in  Picardy  There  he  shut  himself  up  without  any  cause 
of  disgust  or  of  displeasure,  without  being  in  any  em- 
barrassment, for  on  the  contrary  he  was  well  to  do,  and 
all  his  affairs  were  in  good  order,  and  he  never  married; 
without  motives  of  piety,  for  piety  was  not  at  all  in  his 
vein ;  without  being  in  bad  health,  for  his  health  was  al- 
ways perfect;  without  a  taste  for  improvement,  for  no 


320       MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

workmen  were  ever  seen  in  his  house;  still  less  on  ac- 
count of  the  chase,  for  he  never  went  to  it.  Yet  he 
stayed  in  his  house  for  several  years,  without  intercourse 
with  a  soul,  and,  what  is  most  incomprehensible,  without 
budging  from  his  bed,  except  to  allow  it  to  be  made. 
He  dined  there,  and  often  all  alone ;  he  transacted  what 
little  business  he  had  to  do  there,  and  received  while 
there  the  few  people  he  could  not  refuse  admission  to; 
and  each  day,  from  the  moment  he  opened  his  eyes 
until  he  closed  them  again,  worked  at  tapestry,  or  read 
a  little;  he  persevered  until  his  death  in  this  strange 
fashion  of  existence;  so  uniquely  singular,  that  I  have 
wished  to  describe  it. 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

Fascination  of  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  —  Fortunes  of  Nangis  —  He  is 
Loved  by  the  Duchess  and  Her  Dame  d' Atours  —  Discretion  of  the 
Court  —  Maulevrier — His  Courtship  of  the  Duchess  —  Singular  Trick 
—  Its  Strange  Success  —  Mad  Conduct  of  Maulevrier  —  He  is  Sent  to 
Spain  —  His  Adventures  There  —  His  Return  and  Tragical  Catas- 
trophe. 

THERE  presents  itself  to  my  memory  an  anecdote  which 
it  would  be  very  prudent  perhaps  to  be  silent  upon, 
and  which  is  very  curious  for  anybody  who  has 
seen  things  so  closely  as  I  have,  to  describe.  What 
determines  me  to  relate  it  is,  that  the  fact  is  not  altogether 
unknown,  and  that  every  Court  swarms  with  similar 
adventures.  Must  it  be  said  then  ?  We  had  among  us  a 
charming  young  princess  who,  by  her  graces,  her  atten- 
tions, and  her  original  manners,  had  taken  possession  of 
the  hearts  of  the  King,  of  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and  of 
her  husband,  Mgr.  le  Due  de  Bourgogne.  The  extreme 
discontent,  so  justly  felt  against  her  father,  M.  de 
Savoie,  had  not  made  the  slightest  alteration  in  their 
tenderness  for  her.  The  King,  who  hid  nothing  from 
her,  who  worked  with  his  ministers  in  her  presence 
whenever  she  liked  to  enter,  took  care  not  to  say  a 
word  in  her  hearing  against  her  father.  In  private,  she 
clasped  the  King  round  the  neck  at  all  hours,  jumped 
upon  his  knees,  tormented  him  with  all  sorts  of  sportive- 
ness,  rummaged  among  his  papers,  opened  his  letters  and 
read  them  in  his  presence,  sometimes  in  spite  of  him; 
and  acted  in  the  same  manner  with  Madame  de  Mainte- 
non. Despite  this  extreme  liberty,  she  never  spoke 
against  anyone;  gracious  to  all,  she  endeavored  to  ward 
off  blows  from  all  whenever  she  could;  was  attentive  to 
the  private  comforts  of  the  King,  even  the  humblest ;  kind 
to  all  who  served  her,  and  living  with  her  ladies,  as  with 
friends,  in  complete  liberty,  old  and  young;  she  was  the 
darling  of  the  Court,  adored  by  all ;  everybody,  great  and 
21  (321) 


322  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

small,  was  anxious  to  please  her;  everybody  missed  her 
when  she  was  away;  when  she  reappeared  the  void  was 
filled  up;  in  a  word  she  had  attached  all  hearts  to  her; 
but  while  in  this  brilliant  situation  she  lost  her  own. 

Nangis,  now  a  very  commonplace  Mare'chal  of  France, 
was  at  that  time  in  full  bloom.  He  had  an  agreeable, 
but  not  an  uncommon  face ;  was  well  made,  without  any- 
thing marvelous;  and  had  been  educated  in  intrigue 
by  the  Mar£chale  de  Rochefort,  his  grandmother,  and 
Madame  de  Blansac,  his  mother,  who  were  skilled  mis- 
tresses of  that  art.  Early  introduced  by  them  into  the 
great  world,  of  which  they  were,  so  to  speak,  the  center, 
he  had  no  talent  but  that  of  pleasing  women,  of  speak- 
ing their  language,  and  of  monopolizing  the  most  desir- 
able by  a  discretion  beyond  his  years,  and  which  did  not 
belong  to  his  time.  Nobody  was  more  in  vogue  than  he. 
He  had  had  the  command  of  a  regiment  when  he  was  quite 
a  child.  He  had  shown  firmness,  application,  and  bril- 
liant valor  in  war,  that  the  ladies  had  made  the  most  of,  and 
they  sufficed  at  his  age;  he  was  of  the  Court  of  Monsei- 
gneur  le  Due  de  Bourgogne,  about  the  same  age,  and 
well  treated  by  him. 

The  Due  de  Bourgogne,  passionately  in  love  with  his  wife, 
was  not  so  well  made  as  Nangis;  but  the  Princess  recip- 
rocated his  ardor  so  perfectly  that  up  to  his  death  he 
never  suspected  that  her  glances  had  wandered  to  any 
one  else.  They  fell,  however,  upon  Nangis,  and  soon 
redoubled.  Nangis  was  not  ungrateful,  but  he  feared  the 
thunderbolt;  and  his  heart,  too,  was  already  engaged. 
Madame  de  La  Vrilliere,  who,  without  beauty,  was  pretty 
and  grateful  as  love,  had  made  this  conquest,  She  was, 
as  I  have  said,  daughter  of  Madame  de  Mailly,  Dame 
d'Atours  of  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bourgogne;  and  was 
always  near  her.  Jealousy  soon  enlightened  her  as  to 
what  was  taking  place.  Far  from  yielding  her  conquest 
to  the  Duchess,  she  made  a  point  of  preserving  it,  of 
disputing  its  possession,  and  carrying  it  off.  This  struggle 
threw  Nangis  into  a  terrible  embarrassment.  He  feared 
the  fury  of  Madame  de  la  Vrilliere,  who  affected  to  be 
more  ready  to  break  out  than  in  reality  she  was.  Be- 
sides his  love  for  her,  he  feared  the  result  of  an  outburst, 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  323 

and  already  saw  his  fortune  lost.  On  the  other  hand, 
any  reserve  of  his  toward  the  Duchess,  who  had  so  much 
power  in  her  hands  —  and  seemed  destined  to  have  more 
—  and  who  he  knew  was  not  likely  to  suffer  a  rival  — 
might,  he  felt,  be  his  ruin.  This  perplexity,  for  those 
who  were  aware  of  it,  gave  rise  to  continual  scenes.  I 
was  then  a  constant  visitor  of  Madam  de  Blansac,  at 
Paris,  and  of  the  Mare*chale  de  Rochefort,  at  Versailles; 
and,  through  .them  and  several  other  ladies  of  the  Court, 
with  whom  I  was  intimate,  I  learned  day  by  day,  every- 
thing that  passed.  In  addition  to  the  fact  that  nothing 
diverted  me  more,  the  result  of  this  affair  might  be  great ; 
and  it  was  my  especial  ambition  to  be  well  informed  of 
everything.  At  length,  all  members  of  the  Court,  who 
were  assiduous  and  enlightened  understood  the  state  of 
affairs;  but  either  through  fear  or  from  love  to  the 
Duchess,  the  whole  Court  was  silent,  saw  everything, 
whispered  discreetly,  and  actually  kept  the  secret  that  was 
not  intrusted  to  it.  The  struggle  between  the  two  ladies, 
not  without  bitterness,  and  sometimes  insolence  on  the 
part  of  Madame  de  la  Vrilliere,  nor  without  suffering 
and  displeasure  gently  manifested  on  the  part  of  Madame 
de  Bourgogne,  was  for  a  long  time  a  singular  sight. 

Whether  Nangis,  too  faithful  to  his  first  love,  needed 
some  grains  of  jealousy  to  excite  him,  or  whether  things 
fell  out  naturally,  it  happened  that  he  found  a  rival. 
Maulevrier,  son  of  a  brother  of  Colbert  who  had  died  of 
grief  at  not  being  named  Mare*chal  of  France,  was  this 
rival.  He  had  married  a  daughter  of  the  Mare*chal  de 
Tesse",  and  was  not  very  agreeable  in  appearance  —  his 
face,  indeed,  was  very  commonplace.  He  was  by  no 
means  framed  for  gallantry;  but  he  had  wit,  and  a  mind 
fertile  in  intrigues,  with  a  measureless  ambition  that  was 
sometimes  pushed  to  madness.  His  wife  was  pretty,  not 
clever,  quarrelsome,  and  under  a  virginal  appearance, 
mischievous  to  the  last  degree.  As  daughter  of  a  man 
for  whom  Madame  de  Bourgogne  had  much  gratitude  for 
the  part  he  had  taken  in  negotiating  her  marriage,  and 
the  peace  of  Savoy,  she  was  easily  enabled  to  make  her 
way  at  Court,  and  her  husband  with  her.  He  soon  sniffed 
what  was  passing  in  respect  to  Nangis,  and  obtained 


324  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

means  of  access  to  Madame  de  Bourgogne,  through  the 
influence  of  his  father-in-law ;  was  assiduous  in  his  atten- 
tions; and  at  length,  excited  by  example,  dared  to  sigh. 
Tired  of  not  being  understood,  he  ventured  to  write.  It 
is  pretended  that  he  sent  his  letters  through  one  of  the 
Court  ladies,  who  thought  they  came  from  Tesse",  deliv- 
ered them,  and  handed  him  back  the  answers,  as  though 
for  delivery  by  him.  I  will  not  add  what  more  was 
believed.  I  will  simply  say  that  this  affair  was  as  soon 
perceived  as  had  been  the  other,  and  was  treated  with 
the  same  silence. 

Under  pretext  of  friendship,  Madame  de  Bourgogne 
went  more  than  once  —  on  account  of  the  speedy  depart- 
ure of  her  husband  (for  the  army),  attended  sometimes 
by  La  Maintenon, —  to  the  house  of  Madame  de  Maulev- 
rier,  to  weep  with  her.  The  Court  smiled.  Whether 
the  tears  were  for  Madame  de  Maulevrier  or  for  Nan- 
gis,  was  doubtful.  But  Nangis,  nevertheless,  aroused 
by  this  rivalry,  threw  Madame  de  la  Vrilliere  into  terri- 
ble grief,  and  into  a  humor  over  which  she  was  not 
mistress. 

This  tocsin  made  itself  heard  by  Maulevrier.  What 
will  not  a  man  think  of  doing  when  possessed  to  excess  by 
love  or  ambition?  He  pretended  to  have  something  the 
matter  with  his  chest,  put  himself  on  a  milk  diet,  made 
believe  that  he  had  lost  his  voice,  and  was  sufficiently 
master  of  himself  to  refrain  from  uttering  an  intelligible 
word  during  the  whole  year :  by  these  means  evading  the 
campaign  and  remaining  at  the  Court.  He  was  mad 
enough  to  relate  this  project,  and  many  others,  to  his 
friend  the  Due  de  Lorges,  from  whom,  in  turn  I  learned 
it.  The  fact  was,  that  bringing  himself  thus  to  the  ne- 
cessity of  never  speaking  to  anybody  except  in  their  ear, 
he  had  the  liberty  of  speaking  low  to  Madame  la  Duchess 
de  Bourgogne  before  all  the  Court  without  impropriety 
and  without  suspicion.  In  this  manner  he  said  to  her 
whatever  he  wished  day  by  day,  and  was  never  over- 
heard. He  also  contrived  to  say  things,  the  short  answers 
to  which  were  equally  unheard.  He  so  accustomed  peo- 
ple to  this  manner  of  speaking  that  they  took  no  more 
notice  of  it  than  was  expressed  in  pity  for  such  a  sad 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  325 

state;  but  it  happened  that  those  who  approached  the 
nearest  to  Madame  la  Duchess  de  Bourgogne  when 
Maulevrier  was  at  her  side,  soon  knew  enough  not  to  be 
eager  to  draw  near  her  again  when  she  was  thus  situ- 
ated. This  trick  lasted  more  than  a  year:  his  conversation 
was  principally  composed  of  reproaches  —  but  reproaches 
rarely  succeed  in  love.  Maulevrier,  judging  by  the  ill 
humor  of  Madame  de  la  Vrilliere,  believed  Nangis  to 
be  happy.  Jealousy  and  rage  transported  him  at  last  to 
the  extremity  of  folly. 

One  day,  as  Madame  de  Bourgogne  was  coming  from 
mass  and  he  knew  that  Dangeau,  her  chevalier  d'hon- 
neur,  was  absent,  he  gave  his  hand.  The  attendants  had 
accustomed  themselves  to  let  him  have  this  honor,  on 
account  of  his  distinguished  voice,  so  as  to  allow  him  to 
speak  by  the  way,  and  retired  respectfully  so  as  not  to 
hear  what  he  said.  The  ladies  always  followed  far  behind, 
so  that,  in  the  midst  of  all  the  Court,  he  had,  from  the 
chapel  to  the  apartments  of  Madame  de  Bourgogne,  the 
full  advantages  of  a  private  interview  —  advantages  that 
he  had  availed  himself  of  several  times.  On  this  day  he 
railed  against  Nangis  to  Madame  de  Bourgogne,  called 
him  by  all  sorts  of  names,  threatened  to  tell  everything 
to  the  King  and  to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  and  to  the 
Due  de  Bourgogne,  squeezed  her  fingers  as  if  he  would 
break  them,  and  led  her  in  this  manner,  like  a  madman 
as  he  was,  to  her  apartments.  Upon  entering  them  she 
was  ready  to  swoon.  Trembling  all  over  she  entered  her 
wardrobe,  called  one  of  her  favorite  ladies,  Madame  de 
Nogaret,  to  her,  related  what  occurred,  saying  she  knew 
not  how  she  had  reached  her  rooms,  or  how  it  was  she 
had  not  sunk  beneath  the  floor,  or  died.  She  had  never 
been  so  dismayed.  The  same  day  Madame  de  Nogaret 
related  this  to  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  and  to  me,  in  the 
strictest  confidence.  She  counseled  the  Duchess  to  be- 
have gently  with  such  a  dangerous  madman,  and  to  avoid 
committing  herself  in  any  way  with  him.  The  worst 
was,  that  after  this  he  threatened  and  said  many  things 
against  Nangis,  as  a  man  with  whom  he  was  deeply 
offended,  and  whom  he  meant  to  call  to  account.  Al- 
though he  gave  no  reason  for  this,  the  reason  was  only 


326  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

too  evident.  The  fear  of  Madame  de  Bourgogne  at  this 
may  be  imagined,  and  also  that  of  Nangis.  He  was 
brave  and  cared  for  nobody ;  but  to  be  mixed  up  in  such 
an  affair  as  this  made  him  quake  with  fright.  He  be- 
held his  fortune  and  his  happiness  in  the  hands  of  a 
furious  madman.  He  shunned  Maulevrier  from  that  time 
as  much  as  possible,  showed  himself  but  little,  and  held 
his  peace. 

For  six  weeks  Madame  de  Bourgogne  lived  in  the  most 
measured  manner,  and  in  mortal  tremors  of  fear,  with- 
out, however,  anything  happening.  I  know  not  who 
warned  Tesse"  of  what  was  going  on.  But  when  he  learned 
it  he  acted  like  a  man  of  ability.  He  persuaded  his  son- 
in-law,  Maulevrier,  to  follow  him  to  Spain,  to  a  place 
where  his  fortune  was  assured  to  him.  He  spoke  to 
Fagon,  who  saw  all  and  knew  all.  He  understood  mat- 
ters in  a  moment,  and  at  once  said,  that  as  so  many 
remedies  had  been  tried  ineffectually  for  Maulevrier,  he 
must  go  to  a  warmer  climate,  as  a  winter  in  France  would 
inevitably  kill  him.  It  was  then  as  a  remedy,  and  as 
people  go  to  the  waters,  that  he  went  to  Spain.  The 
King  and  all  the  Court  believed  this,  and  neither  the 
King  nor  Madame  de  Maintenon  offered  any  objections. 
As  soon  as  Tesse*  knew  this  he  hurried  his  son-in-law 
out  of  the  realm,  and  so  put  a  stop  to  his  follies  and  the 
mortal  fear  they  had  caused.  To  finish  this  adventure  at 
once,  although  it  will  lead  me  far  beyond  the  date  of 
other  matters  to  be  spoken  of  after,  let  me  say  what  be- 
came of  Maulevrier  after  this  point  of  the  narrative. 

He  went  first  to  Spain  with  Tesse".  On  the  way  they 
had  an  interview  with  Madame  des  Ursins,  and  succeeded 
in  gaining  her  favor  so  completely,  that,  upon  arriving  at 
Madrid,  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain,  informed  of  this, 
welcomed  them  with  much  cordiality.  Maulevrier  soon 
became  a  great  favorite  with  the  Queen  of  Spain.  It 
has  been  said  that  he  wished  to  please  her,  and  that  he 
succeeded.  At  all  events  he  often  had  long  interviews 
with  her  in  private,  and  these  made  people  think  and 
talk. 

Maulevrier  began  to  believe  it  time  to  reap  after  hav- 
ing so  well  sown.  He  counted  upon  nothing  less  than 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  327 

being-  made  grandee  of  Spain,  and  he  would  have  ob- 
tained this  favor  but  for  his  indiscretion.  News  of  what 
was  in  store  for  him  was  noised  abroad.  The  Due  de 
Grammont,  then  our  ambassador  at  Madrid,  wrote  word 
to  the  King  of  the  rumors  that  were  in  circulation  of 
Maulevrier's  audacious  conduct  toward  the  Queen  of  Spain, 
and  of  the  reward  it  was  to  meet  with.  The  King  at 
once  sent  a  very  strong  letter  to  the  King  of  Spain  about 
Maulevrier,  who,  by  the  same  courier,  was  prohibited 
from  accepting  any  favor  that  might  be  offered  him.  He 
was  ordered  at  the  same  time  to  join  Tesse*  at  Gibraltar. 
He  had  already  done  so  at  the  instance  of  Tesse*  him- 
self; so  the  courier  went  from  Madrid  to  Gibraltar  to 
find  him.  His  rage  and  vexation  upon  seeing  himself 
deprived  of  the  recompense  he  had  considered  certain 
were  very  great.  But  they  yielded  in  time  to  the  hopes 
he  formed  of  success,  and  he  determined  to  set  off  for 
Madrid  and  thence  to  Versailles.  His  father-in-law  tried 
to  retain  him  at  the  siege,  but  in  vain.  His  representa- 
tions and  his  authority  were  alike  useless.  Maulevrier 
hoped  to  gain  over  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain  so 
completely,  that  our  King  would  be  forced,  as  it  were,  to 
range  himself  on  their  side;  but  the  Due  de  Grammont 
at  once  wrote  word  that  Maulevrier  had  left  the  siege 
of  Gibraltar  and  returned  to  Madrid.  This  disobedience 
was  at  once  chastised.  A  courier  was  immediately  dis- 
patched to  Maulevrier,  commanding  him  to  set  out  for 
France.  He  took  leave  of  the  King  and  Queen  of  Spain 
like  a  man  without  hope,  and  left  Spain.  The  most  re- 
markable thing  is,  that  upon  arriving  at  Paris,  and  find- 
ing the  Court  at  Marly,  and  his  wife  there  also,  he  asked 
permission  to  go  too,  the  husbands  being  allowed  by 
right  to  accompany  their  wives  there,  and  the  King,  to 
avoid  a  disturbance,  did  not  refuse  him. 

At  first  everything  seemed  to  smile  upon  Maulevrier. 
He  had,  as  I  have -said,  made  friends  with  Madame  des 
Ursins  when  he  was  on  the  road  to  Spain.  He  had  done 
so  chiefly  by  vaunting  his  intimacy  with  Madame  de 
Bourgogne,  and  by  showing  to  Madame  des  Ursins  that  he 
was  in  many  of  the  secrets  of  the  Court.  Accordingly,  upon 
his  return,  she  took  him  by  the  hand  and  showed  a  dis- 


328  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

position  toward  him  which  could  not  fail  to  reinstate  him 
in  favor.  She  spoke  well  of  him  to  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon,  who,  always  much  smitten  with  new  friends,  re- 
ceived him  well,  and  often  had  conversations  with  him 
which  lasted  more  than  three  hours.  Madame  de  Main- 
tenon  mentioned  him  to  the  King,  and  Maulevrier,  who 
had  returned  out  of  all  hope,  now  saw  himself  in  a  more 
favorable  position  than  ever. 

But  the  old  cause  of  trouble  still  existed,  and  with 
fresh  complications.  Nangis  was  still  in  favor,  and  his 
appearance  made  Maulevrier  miserable.  There  was  a 
new  rival,  too,  in  the  field,  the  Abbe*  de  Polignac. 

Pleasing,  nay  most  fascinating  in  manner,  the  Abbe" 
was  a  man  to  gain  all  hearts.  He  stopped  at  no  flattery 
to  succeed  in  this.  One  day  when  following  the  King 
through  the  gardens  of  Marly,  it  came  on  to  rain.  The 
King  considerately  noticed  the  Abba's  dress,  little  calcu- 
lated to  keep  off  rain.  (<  It  is  no  matter,  Sire,  *  said  De 
Polignac,  <(the  rain  of  Marly  does  not  wet. "  People 
laughed  much  at  this,  and  these  words  were  a  standing 
reproach  to  the  soft-spoken  Abbe". 

One  of  the  means  by  which  the  Abbe*  gained  the  favor 
of  the  King  was  by  being  the  lover  of  Madame  du  Maine. 
His  success  at  length  was  great  in  every  direction.  He 
even  envied  the  situations  of  Nangis  and  Maulevrier ;  and 
sought  to  participate  in  the  same  happiness.  He  took 
the  same  road.  Madame  d'O.  and  the  Mare'chale  de 
Coeuvres  became  his  friends.  He  sought  to  be  heard, 
and  WAS  heard.  At  last  he  faced  the  danger  of 
the  Swiss,  and  on  fine  nights  was  seen  with  the 
Duchess  in  the  gardens.  Nangis  diminished  in  favor. 
Maulevrier  on  his  return  increased  in  fury.  The  Abbe" 
met  with  the  same  fate  as  they;  everything  was  per- 
ceived; people  talked  about  the  matter  in  whispers,  but 
silence  was  kept.  This  triumph,  in  spite  of  his  age,  did 
not  satisfy  the  Abbe" :  he  aimed  at  something  more  solid. 
He  wished  to  arrive  at  the  cardinalship,  and  to  further 
his  views  he  thought  it  advisable  to  ingratiate  himself 
into  the  favor  of  Monsieur  de  Bourgogne.  He  sought 
introduction  to  them  through  friends  of  mine,  whom  I 
warned  against  him  as  a  man  without  scruple,  and  intent 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  329 

only  upon  advancing  himself.  My  warnings  were  in  vain. 
My  friends  would  not  heed  me,  and  the  Abbe"  de  Polignac 
succeeded  in  gaining  the  confidence  of  Monsieur  de  Bour- 
gogne,  as  well  as  the  favor  of  Madame  de  Bourgogne. 

Maulevrier  had  thus  two  sources  of  annoyance  —  the 
Abbe*  de  Polignac  and  Nangis.  Of  the  latter  he  showed 
himself  so  jealous,  that  Madame  de  Maulevrier,  out  of 
pique,  made  advances  to  him.  Nangis,  to  screen  him- 
self the  better,  replied  to  her.  Maulevrier  perceived 
this.  He  knew  his  wife  to  be  sufficiently  wicked  to 
make  him  fear  her.  So  many  troubles  of  heart  and  brain 
transported  him.  He  lost  his  head. 

One  day  the  Mare*chale  de  Cceuvres  came  to  see  him, 
apparently  on  some  message  of  reconciliation.  He  shut 
the  door  upon  her;  barricaded  her  within,  and  through 
the  door  quarreled  with  her,  even  to  abuse,  for  an  hour, 
during  which  she  had  the  patience  to  remain  there  with- 
out being  able  to  see  him.  After  this  he  went  rarely  to 
Court,  but  generally  kept  himself  shut  up  at  home. 

Sometimes  he  would  go  out  all  alone  at  the  strangest 
hours,  take  a  fiacre  and  drive  away  to  the  back  of  the 
Chartreux  or  to  other  remote  spots.  Alighting  there,  he 
would  whistle,  and  a  gray-headed  old  man  would  advance 
and  give  him  a  packet,  or  one  would  be  thrown  to  him 
from  a  window,  or  he  would  pick  up  a  box  filled  with 
dispatches,  hidden  behind  a  post.  I  heard  of  these  mys- 
terious doings  from  people  to  whom  he  was  vain  and  in- 
discreet enough  to  boast  of  them.  He  continually  wrote 
letters  to  Madame  de  Bourgogne,  and  to  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  but  more  frequently  to  the  former.  Ma- 
dame Cantin  was  their  agent;  and  I  know  people  who 
have  seen  letters  of  hers  in  which  she  assured  Maulevrier, 
in  the  strongest  terms,  that  he  might  ever  reckon  on  the 
Duchess. 

He  made  a  last  journey  to  Versailles,  where  he  saw 
his  mistress  in  private,  and  quarreled  with  her  cruelly. 
After  dining  with  Torcy  he  returned  to  Paris.  There, 
torn  by  a  thousand  storms  of  love,  of  jealousy,  of  ambi- 
tion, his  head  was  so  troubled  that  doctors  were  obliged 
to  be  called  in,  and  he  was  forbidden  to  see  only  the 
most  indispensable  persons,  and  those  at  the  hours  when 


330  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

he  was  least  ill.  A  hundred  visions  passed  through  his 
brain.  Now  like  a  madman  he  would  speak  only  of 
Spain,  of  Madame  de  Bourgogne,  of  Nangis,  whom  he 
wished  to  kill  or  to  have  assassinated ;  now  full  of  remorse 
toward  M.  de  Bourgogne,  he  made  reflections  so  curious 
to  hear,  that  no  one  dared  to  remain  with  him,  and  he 
was  left  alone.  At  other  times,  recalling  his  early  days, 
he  had  nothing  but  ideas  of  retreat  and  penitence.  Then 
a  confession  was  necessary  in  order  to  banish  his  despair 
as  to  the  mercy  of  God.  Often  he  thought  himself  very 
ill  and  upon  the  point  of  death. 

The  world,  however,  and  even  his  nearest  friends  per- 
suaded themselves  that  he  was  only  playing  a  part;  and 
hoping  to  put  an  end  to  it,  they  declared  to  him  that 
he  passed  for  mad  in  society,  and  that  it  behoved  him 
to  rise  out  of  such  a  strange  state  and  show  himself. 
This  was  the  last  blow  and  it  overwhelmed  him.  Furious 
at  finding  that  this  opinion  was  ruining  all  the  designs 
of  his  ambition,  he  delivered  himself  up  to  despair.  Al- 
though watched  with  extreme  care  by  his  wife,  by  par- 
ticular friends,  and  by  his  servants,  he  took  his  measures 
so  well,  that  on  the  Good  Friday  of  the  year  1706,  at 
about  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  he  slipped  away  from 
them  all,  entered  a  passage  behind  his  room,  opened  the 
window,  threw  himself  into  the  court  below,  and  dashed 
out  his  brains  upon  the  pavement.  Such  was  the  end  of 
an  ambitious  man,  who,  by  his  wild  and  dangerous  pas- 
sions, lost  his  wits  and  then  his  life,  a  tragic  victim  of 
himself. 

Madame  de  Bourgogne  learned  the  news  at  night.  In 
public  she  showed  no  emotion,  but  in  private  some  tears 
escaped  her.  They  might  have  been  of  pity,  but  were 
not  so  charitably  interpreted.  Soon  after  it  was  noticed 
that  Madame  de  Maintenon  seemed  embarrassed  and 
harsh  toward  Madame  de  Bourgogne.  It  was  no  longer 
doubted  that  Madame  de  Maintenon  had  heard  the  whole 
story.  She  often  had  long  interviews  with  Madame  de 
Bourgogne  who  always  left  them  in  tears.  Her  sadness 
grew  so  much,  and  her  eyes  were  so  often  red,  that 
Monsieur  de  Bourgogne  at  last  became  alarmed.  But 
he  had  no  suspicion  of  the  truth,  and  was  easily  satisfied 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  331 

with  the  explanation  he  received.  Madame  de  Bourgogne 
felt  the  necessity,  however,  of  appearing  gayer,  and 
showed  herself  so.  As  for  the  Abbe  de  Polignac,  it  was 
felt  that  that  dangerous  person  was  best  away.  He  re- 
ceived therefore  a  post  which  called  him  away,  as  it 
were,  into  exile;  and  though  he  delayed  his  departure 
as  long  as  possible,  was  at  length  obliged  to  go.  Madame 
de  Bourgogne  took  leave  of  him  in  a  manner  that  showed 
how  much  she  was  affected.  Some  rather  insolent  verses 
were  written  upon  this  event,  and  were  found  written 
on  a  balustrade  by  Madame,  who  was  not  discreet  enough 
or  good  enough  to  forget  them.  But  they  made  little 
noise;  everybody  loved  Madame  de  Bourgogne,  and  hid 
these  verses  as  much  as  possible. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

Death  of  M.  de  Duras  —  Selfishness  of  the  King  —  Anecdote  of  Puy- 
sieux — Character  of  Pontchartrain  —  Why  he  Ruined  the  French 
Fleet — Madame  des  Ursins  at  Last  Resolves  to  Return  to  Spain 
—  Favors  Heaped  Upon  Her — M.  de  Lauzun  at  the  Army  —  His 
Bon  Mot — Conduct  of  M.  de  Vend&me  —  Disgrace  and  Character 
of  the  Grand  Prieur. 

AT  THE  beginning  of  October,  news  reached  the  Court, 
which  was  at  Fontainebleau,  that  M.  de  Duras  was 

at  the  point  of  death.  Upon  hearing  this,  Madame 
de  Saint- Simon  and  Madame  de  Lauzun,  who  were  both 
related  to  M.  de  Duras,  wished  to  absent  themselves  from 
the  Court  performances  that  were  to  take  place  in  the 
palace  that  evening.  They  expressed  this  wish  to  Ma- 
dame de  Bourgogne,  who  approved  of  it,  but  said  she  was 
afraid  the  King  would  not  do  the  same.  He  had  been 
very  angry  lately  because  the  ladies  had  neglected  to  go 
full  dressed  to  the  Court  performances.  A  few  words  he 
had  spoken  made  everybody  take  good  care  not  to  rouse 
his  anger  on  this  point  again.  He  expected  so  much 
accordingly  from  everybody  who  attended  the  Court,  that 
Madame  de  Bourgogne  was  afraid  he  would  not  consent 
to  dispense  with  the  attendance  of  Madame  de  Saint- 
Simon  and  Madame  de  Lauzun  on  this  occasion.  They 
compromised  the  matter,  therefore,  by  dressing  them- 
selves, going  to  the  room  where  the  performance  was 
held,  and,  under  pretext  of  not  finding  places,  going 
away;  Madame  de  Bourgogne  agreeing  to  explain  their 
absence  in  this  way  to  the  King.  I  notice  this  very  in- 
significant bagatelle  to  show  how  the  King  thought  only 
of  himself,  and  how  much  he  wished  to  be  obeyed ;  and  that 
that  which  would  not  have  been  pardoned  to  the  nieces 
of  a  dying  man,  except  at  the  Court,  was  a  duty  there, 
and  one  which  it  needed  great  address  to  escape  from, 
without  seriously  infringing  the  etiquette  established. 

(332) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE  DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON      333 

After  the  return  of  the  Court  from  Fontainebleau  this 
year,  Puysieux  came  back  from  Switzerland,  having  been 
sent  there  as  ambassador.  Puysieux  was  a  little  fat 
man,  very  agreeable,  pleasant,  and  witty,  one  of  the 
best  fellows  in  the  world,  in  fact.  As  he  had  much  wit, 
and  thoroughly  knew  the  King,  he  bethought  himself  of 
making  the  best  of  his  position;  and  as  his  Majesty 
testified  much  friendship  for  him  on  his  return,  and 
declared  himself  satisfied  with  his  mission  in  Switzerland, 
Puysieux  asked  if  what  he  heard  was  not  mere  compliment, 
and  whether  he  could  count  upon  it.  As  the  King  as- 
sured him  that  he  might  do  so,  Puysieux  assumed  a  brisk 
air,  and  said  that  he  was  not  so  sure  of  that,  and  that 
he  was  not  pleased  with  his  Majesty. 

<(  And  why  not  ? ft  said  the  King. 

(<  Why  not  ? w  replied  Puysieux ;  <(  why,  because  although 
the  most  honest  man  in  your  realm,  you  have  not  kept 
to  a  promise  you  made  me  more  than  fifty  years  ago. " 

<(  What  promise  ?  w  asked  the  King. 

(<  What  promise,  Sire  ? w  said  Puysieux ;  (<  you  have  a 
good  memory,  you  cannot  have  forgotten  it.  Does  not 
your  Majesty  remember  that  one  day,  having  the  honor 
to  play  at  blindman's  buff  with  you  at  my  grandmother's, 
you  put  your  cordon  bleu  on  my  back,  the  better  to  hide 
yourself;  and  that  when,  after  the  game,  I  restored  it  to 
you,  you  promised  to  give  it  me  when  you  became  mas- 
ter; you  have  long  been  so,  thoroughly  master,  and 
nevertheless  that  cordon  bleu  is  still  to  come.0 

The  King,  who  recollected  the  circumstance,  here  burst 
out  laughing,  and  told  Puysieux  he  was  in  the  right,  and 
that  a  chapter  should  be  held  on  the  first  day  of  the  new 
year  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  receiving  him  into  the 
order.  And  so  in  fact  it  was,  and  Puysieux  received  the 
cordon  bleu  on  the  day  the  King  had  named.  This  fact 
is  not  important,  but  it  is  amusing.  It  is  altogether 
singular  in  connection  with  a  prince  as  serious  and  as 
imposing  as  Louis  XIV. ;  and  it  is  one  of  those  little 
Court  anecdotes  which  are  curious. 

Here  is  another  more  important  fact,  the  consequences 
of  which  are  still  felt  by  the  State.  Pontchartrain,  Sec- 
retary of  State  for  the  Navy,  was  the  plague  of  it,  as  of 


334  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

all  those  who  were  under  his  cruel  dependence.  He  was 
a  man  who,  with  some  amount  of  ability,  was  disagreeable 
and  pedantic  to  an  excess;  who  loved  evil  for  its  own 
sake;  who  was  jealous  even  of  his  father;  who  was 
a  cruel  tyrant  toward  his  wife,  a  woman  all  docility  and 
goodness;  who  was  in  one  word  a  monster  whom  the  King 
kept  in  office  only  because  he  feared  him.  An  admiral  was 
the  abhorrence  of  Pontchartrain,  and  an  admiral  who  was 
an  illegitimate  son  of  the  King,  he  loathed.  There 
was  nothing,  therefore,  that  he  had  not  done  dur- 
ing the  war  to  thwart  the  Comte  de  Toulouse;  he  laid 
some  obstacles  everywhere  in  his  path;  he  had  tried 
to  keep  him  out  of  the  command  of  the  fleet  and  fail- 
ing this,  had  done  everything  to  render  the  fleet  use- 
less 

These  were  bold  strokes  against  a  person  the  King  so 
much  loved,  but  Pontchartrain  knew  the  weak  side  of 
the  King,  he  knew  how  to  balance  the  father  against  the 
master,  to  bring  forward  the  admiral  and  set  aside  the 
son.  In  this  manner  the  Secretary  of  State  was  able  to 
put  obstacles  in  the  way  of  the  Comte  de  Toulouse  that 
threw  him  almost  into  despair,  and  the  Count  could  do 
little  to  defend  himself.  It  was  a  well-known  fact  at 
sea  and  in  the  ports  where  the  ships  touched,  and  it 
angered  all  the  fleet.  Pontchartrain  accordingly  was  ab- 
horred there,  while  the  Comte  de  Toulouse,  by  his  ami- 
ability and  other  good  qualities,  was  adored.  At  last,  the 
annoyance  he  caused  became  so  unendurable,  that  the 
Comte  de  Toulouse,  at  the  end  of  his  cruise  in  the  Mediter- 
ranean, returned  to  Court  and  determined  to  expose  the 
doings  of  Pontchartrain  to  the  King. 

The  very  day  he  had  made  up  his  mind  to  do  this,  and 
just  before  he  intended  to  have  his  interview  with  the 
King,  Madame  Pontchartrain,  casting  aside  her  natural 
timidity  and  modesty,  came  to  him,  and  with  tears  in 
her  eyes  begged  him  not  to  bring  about  the  ruin  of  her 
husband.  The  Comte  de  Toulouse  was  softened.  He  ad- 
mitted afterward  that  he  could  not  resist  the  sweetness 
and  sorrow  of  Madame  de  Pontchartrain,  and  that  all  his 
resolutions,  his  weapons,  fell  from  his  hands  at  the 
thought  of  the  sorrow  which  the  poor  woman  would 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  335 

undergo,  after  the  fall  of  her  brutal  husband,  left  entirely 
in  the  hands  of  such  a  furious  Cyclops.  In  this  manner 
Pontchartrain  was  saved,  but  it  cost  dear  to  the  State. 
The  fear  he  was  in  of  succumbing  under  the  glory  or 
under  the  vengeance  of  an  admiral,  who  was  son  of  the 
King,  determined  him  to  ruin  the  fleet  itself,  so  as  to 
render  it  incapable  of  receiving  the  admiral  again.  He 
determined  to  do  this,  and  kept  to  his  word,  as  was  after- 
ward only  too  clearly  verified  by  the  facts.  The  Comte  de 
Toulouse  saw  no  more  either  ports  or  vessels,  and  from 
that  time  only  very  feeble  squadrons  went  out,  and  even 
those  very  seldom.  Pontchartrain  had  the  impudence  to 
boast  of  this  before  my  face. 

When  I  last  spoke  of  Madame  des  Ursins,  I  described 
her  as  living  in  the  midst  of  the  Court,  flattered  and 
caressed  by  all,  and  on  the  highest  terms  of  favor  with 
the  King  and  Madame  de  Maintenon.  She  found  her 
position,  indeed,  so  far  above  her  hopes,  that  she  began 
to  waver  in  her  intention  of  returning  to  Spain.  The 
age  and  the  health  of  Madame  de  Maintenon  tempted 
her.  She  would  have  preferred  to  govern  here  rather 
than  in  Spain.  Flattered  by  the  attentions  paid  her,  she 
thought  those  attentions,  or,  I  may  say,  rather  those 
servile  adorations,  would  continue  forever,  and  that  in 
time  she  might  arrive  at  the  highest  point  of  power. 
The  Archbishop  of  Aix  and  her  brother  divined  her 
thoughts,  for  she  did  not  dare  to  avow  them,  and  showed 
her  in  the  clearest  way  that  those  thoughts  were  calcu- 
lated to  lead  her  astray.  They  explained  to  her  that  the 
only  interest  Madame  de  Maintenon  had  in  favoring  her 
was  on  account  of  Spain.  Madame  des  Ursins  once  back 
in  that  country,  Madame  de  Maintenon  looked  forward 
to  a  recommencement  of  those  relations  which  had  for- 
merly existed  between  them,  by  which  the  government  of 
Spain,  in  appearance,  if  not  in  reality,  passed  through 
her  hands.  They  therefore  advised  Madame  des  Ursins 
on  no  account  to  think  of  remaining  in  France,  at  the 
same  time  suggesting  that  it  would  not  be  amiss  to  stop 
there  long  enough  to  cause  some  inquietude  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  so  as  to  gain  as  much  advantage  as  pos- 
sible from  it. 


336  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

The  solidity  of  these  reasons  persuaded  Madame  des 
Ursins  to  follow  the  advice  given  her.  She  resolved  to 
depart,  but  not  until  after  a  delay  of  which  she  meant  to 
profit  to  the  utmost.  We  shall  soon  see  what  success  at- 
tended her  schemes.  The  terms  upon  which  I  stood 
with  her  enabled  me  to  have  knowledge  of  all  the  senti- 
ments that  had  passed  through  her  mind:  her  extreme 
desire,  upon  arriving  in  Paris,  to  return  to  Spain;  the 
intoxication  which  seized  her  in  consequence  of  the  treat- 
ment she  received,  and  which  made  her  balance  this 
desire;  and  her  final  resolution.  It  was  not  until 
afterward,  however,  that  I  learned  all  the  details  I  have 
just  related. 

It  was  not  long  before  Madame  de  Maintenon  began  to 
feel  impatient  at  the  long-delayed  departure  of  Madame 
des  Ursins.  She  spoke  at  last  upon  the  subject,  and  pressed 
Madame  des  Ursins  to  set  out  for  Spain.  This  was  just 
what  the  other  wanted.  She  said  that  as  she  had  been 
driven  out  of  Spain  like  a  criminal,  she  must  go  back 
with  honor,  if  Madame  de  Maintenon  wished  her  to  gain 
the  confidence  and  esteem  of  the  Spaniards.  That  al- 
though she  had  been  treated  by  the  King  with  every 
consideration  and  goodness,  many  people  in  Spain  were, 
and  would  be,  ignorant  of  it,  and  that,  therefore,  her 
return  to  favor  ought  to  be  made  known  in  as  public  and 
convincing  a  manner  as  was  her  disgrace.  This  was  said 
with  all  that  eloquence  and  persuasiveness  for  which 
Madame  des  Ursins  was  remarkable.  The  effect  of  it 
exceeded  her  hopes. 

The  favors  she  obtained  were  prodigious.  Twenty 
thousand  livres  by  way  of  annual  pension,  and  thirty 
thousand  for  her  journey.  One  of  her  brothers,  M.  de 
Noirmoutiers,  blind  since  the  age  of  eighteen  or  twenty, 
was  made  hereditary  duke ;  another,  the  Abbe"  de  la  Tre"- 
moille,  of  exceeding  bad  life,  and  much  despised  in  Rome, 
where  he  lived,  was  made  cardinal.  What  a  success  was 
this!  How  many  obstacles  had  to  be  overcome  in  order 
to  attain  it!  Yet  this  was  what  Madame  des  Ursins  ob- 
tained, so  anxious  was  Madame  de  Maintenon  to  get  rid 
of  her  and  to  send  her  to  reign  in  Spain,  that  she  might 
reign  there  herself.  Pleased  and  loaded  with  favor  as 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  337 

never  subject  was  before,  Madame  des  Ursins  set  out 
toward  the  middle  of  July,  and  was  nearly  a  month  on 
the  road.  It  may  be  imagined  what  sort  of  a  reception 
awaited  her  in  Spain.  The  King  and  the  Queen  went  a 
day's  journey  out  of  Madrid  to  meet  her.  Here,  then, 
we  see  again  at  the  height  of  power  this  woman,  whose 
fall  the  King  but  a  short  time  since  had  so  ardently  de- 
sired, and  whose  separation  from  the  King  and  Queen 
of  Spain  he  had  applauded  himself  for  bringing  about 
with  so  much  tact.  What  a  change  in  a  few  months! 

The  war  continued  this  year,  but  without  bringing  any 
great  success  to  our  arms.  Villars,  at  Circk,  outmanoeu- 
vred Marlborough  in  a  manner  that  would  have  done 
credit  to  the  greatest  general,  Marlborough,  compelled 
to  change  the  plan  of  campaign  he  had  determined  on, 
returned  into  Flanders,  where  the  Mare"chal  de  Villeroy 
was  stationed  with  his  forces.  Nothing  of  importance 
occurred  during  the  campaign,  and  the  two  armies  went 
into  winter  quarters  at  the  end  of  October. 

I  cannot  quit  Flanders  without  relating  another  instance 
of  the  pleasant  malignity  of  M.  de  Lauzun.  In  marrying 
a  daughter  of  the  Marechal  de  Lorges,  he  had  hoped,  as 
I  have  already  said,  to  return  into  the  confidence  of  the 
King  by  means  of  the  Marechal,  and  so  be  again  intrusted 
with  military  command.  Finding  these  hopes  frustrated, 
he  thought  of  another  means  of  reinstating  himself  in 
favor.  He  determined  to  go  to  the  waters  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  not,  as  may  be  believed,  for  his  health,  but  in 
order  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the  important  foreigners 
whom  he  thought  to  find  there,  learn  some  of  the  ene- 
my's plans,  and  come  back  with  an  account  of  them  to 
the  King,  who  would,  no  doubt,  reward  him  for  his  zeal 
But  he  was  deceived  in  his  calculation.  Aix-la-Chapelle, 
generally  so  full  of  foreigners  of  rank,  was  this  year, 
owing  to  the  war,  almost  empty.  M.  de  Lauzun  found, 
therefore,  nobody  of  consequence  from  whom  he  could 
obtain  any  useful  information.  Before  his  return,  he  vis- 
ited the  Mare'chal  de  Villeroy,  who  received  him  with  all 
military  honors,  and  conducted  him  all  over  the  army, 
pointing  out  to  him  the  enemy's  posts ;  for  the  two  armies 
were  then  quite  close  to  each  other.  His  extreme  anxi- 


338  MEMOIRS   OF   THE  • 

ety,  however,  to  get  information,  and  the  multitude  of 
his  questions,  irritated  the  officers  who  were  ordered  to 
do  the  honors  to  him ;  and,  in  going  about,  they  actually, 
at  their  own  risk,  exposed  him  often  to  be  shot  or  taken. 
They  did  not  know  that  his  courage  was  extreme;  and 
were  quite  taken  aback  by  his  calmness,  and  his  evident 
readiness  to  push  on  even  farther  than  they  chose  to  ven- 
ture. 

On  returning  to  Court,  M.  de  Lauzun  was  of  course 
pressed  by  everybody  to  relate  all  he  knew  of  the  posi- 
tion of  the  two  armies.  But  he  held  himself  aloof  from 
all  questioners,  and  would  not  answer.  On  the  day  after 
his  arrival  he  went  to  pay  his  court  to  Monseigneur, 
who  did  not  like  him,  but  who  also  was  no  friend  to  the 
Mare"chal  de  Villeroy.  Monseigneur  put  many  questions 
to  him  upon  the  situation  of  the  two  armies,  and  upon 
the  reasons  which  had  prevented  them  from  engaging 
one  another.  M.  de  Lauzun  shirked  reply,  like  a  man 
who  wished  to  be  pressed;  did  not  deny  that  he  had 
well  inspected  the  position  of  the  two  armies,  but  instead 
of  answering  Monseigneur,  dwelt  upon  the  beauty  of  our 
troops,  their  gaiety  at  finding  themselves  so  near  an 
enemy,  and  their  eagerness  to  fight.  Pushed  at  last  to 
the  point  at  which  he  wished  to  arrive,  <(  I  will  tell 
you,  Monseigneur,*  said  he,  "since  you  absolutely  com- 
mand me;  I  scanned  most  minutely  the  front  of  the 
two  armies  to  the  right  and  to  the  left,  and  all  the  ground 
between  them.  It  is  true  there  is  no  brook,  and  that  I 
saw;  neither  are  there  any  ravines,  nor  hollow  roads 
ascending  or  descending;  but  it  is  true  that  there  were 
other  hindrances  which  I  particularly  remarked." 

<(  But  what  hindrances  could  there  be, w  said  Monsei- 
gneur, w  since  there  was  nothing  between  the  two  armies?* 

M.  de  Lauzun  allowed  himself  to  be  pressed  upon  this 
point,  constantly  repeating  the  list  of  hindrances  that 
did  not  exist,  but  keeping  silent  upon  the  others.  At 
last,  driven  into  a  corner,  he  took  his  snuffbox  from  his 
pocket. 

<(  You  see, "  said  he  to  Monseigneur,  <(  there  is  one  thing 
which  much  embarrasses  the  feet,  the  furze  that  grows 
upon  the  ground,  where  M.  le  Mare"chal  de  Viileroy  is 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  339 

encamped.  The  furze,  it  is  true,  is  not  mixed  with  any 
other  plant,  either  hard  or  thorny;  but  it  is  a  high 
furze,  as  high,  as  high,  let  me  see,  what  shall  I  say?"  — 
and  he  looked  all  around  to  find  some  object  of  com- 
parison—  (<as  high,  I  assure  you,  as  this  snuffbox!" 

Monseigneur  burst  out  laughing  at  this  sally,  and  all  the 
company  followed  his  example,  in  the  midst  of  which  M. 
de  Lauzun  turned  on  his  heel  and  left  the  room.  His 
joke  soon  spread  all  over  the  Court  and  the  town,  and  in 
the  evening  was  told  to  the  King.  This  was  all  the 
thanks  M.  de  Villeroy  obtained  from  M.  de  Lauzun  for 
the  honors  he  had  paid  him ;  and  this  was  M.  de  Lauzun's 
consolation  for  his  ill  success  at  Aix-la-Chapelle. 

In  Italy  our  armies  were  not  more  successful  than  else- 
where. From  time  to  time,  M.  de  Vendome  attacked  some 
unimportant  post,  and,  having  carried  it,  dispatched  cour- 
iers to  the  King,  magnifying  the  importance  of  the  exploit. 
But  the  fact  was,  all  these  successes  led  to  nothing.  On 
one  occasion,  at  Cassano,  M.  de  Vendome  was  so  vigor- 
ously attacked  by  Prince  Louis  of  Baden  that,  in  spite  of 
his  contempt  and  his  audacity,  he  gave  himself  up  for 
lost.  When  danger  was  most  imminent,  instead  of  re- 
maining at  his  post,  he  retired  from  the  field  of*  battle 
to  a  distant  country  house,  and  began  to  consider  how  a 
retreat  might  be  managed.  The  Grand  Prieur,  his  brother, 
was  in  command  under  him,  and  was  ordered  to  remain 
upon  the  field;  but  he  was  more  intent  upon  saving  his 
skin  than  of  obeying  orders,  and  so,  at  the  very  outset 
of  the  fight,  ran  away  to  a  country  house  hard  by.  M. 
de  Vendome  strangely  enough  had  sat  down  to  eat  at  the 
country  house  whither  he  had  retired,  and  was  in  the 
midst  of  his  meal  when  the  news  was  brought  him  that, 
owing  to  the  prodigies  performed  by  one  of  his  officers, 
Le  Guerchois,  the  fortunes  of  the  day  had  changed,  and 
Prince  Louis  of  Baden  was  retiring.  M.  Vendome  had 
great  difficulty  to  believe  this,  but  ordered  his  horse, 
mounted,  and,  pushing  on,  concluded  the  combat  glo- 
riously. He  did  not  fail,  of  course,  to  claim  all  the  honors 
of  this  victory,  which  in  reality  was  a  barren  one;  and 
sent  word  of  his  triumph  to  the  King.  He  dared  to  say 
that  the  loss  of  the  enemy  was  more  than  thirteen  thou- 


340      MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

sand;  and  our  loss  less  than  three  thousand  —  whereas, 
the  loss  was  at  least  equal.  This  exploit,  nevertheless 
resounded  at  the  Court,  and  through  the  town  as  an  ad- 
vantage the  most  complete  and  most  decisive,  and  due 
entirely  to  the  vigilance,  valor,  and  capacity  of  Vendome. 
Not  a  word  was  said  of  his  country  house,  or  the  inter- 
rupted meal.  These  facts  were  only  known  after  the 
return  of  the  general  officers.  As  for  the  Grand  Prieur, 
his  paltroonery  had  been  so  public,  his  flight  so  disgraceful 
— for  he  had  taken  troops  with  him  to  protect  the  country 
house  in  which  he  sought  shelter — that  he  could  not  be 
pardoned.  The  two  brothers  quarreled  upon  these  points, 
and  in  the  end  the  Grand  Prieur  was  obliged  to  give  up 
his  command.  He  retired  to  his  house  at  Clichy,  near 
Paris;  but  tiring  of  that  place  he  went  to  Rome,  made 
the  acquaintance  there  of  the  Marquise  de  Richelieu,  a 
wanderer  like  himself,  and  passed  some  time  with  her  at 
Genoa.  Leaving  that  city,  he  went  to  Chalons-upon- 
Saone,  which  had  been  fixed  upon  as  the  place  of  his 
exile,  and  there  gave  himself  up  to  the  debaucheries  in 
which  he  usually  lived.  From  this  time  until  the  Regency 
we  shall  see  nothing  more  of  him.  I  shall  only  add, 
therefore,  that  he  never  went  sober  to  bed  during  thirty 
years,  but  was  always  carried  thither  dead  drunk:  was  a 
liar,  swindler,  and  thief;  a  rogue  to  the  marrow  of  his 
bones,  rotted  with  vile  diseases;  the  most  contemptible 
and  yet  most  dangerous  fellow  in  the  world. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

A  Hunting  Adventure  —  Story  and  Catastrophe  of  Fargues  —  Death 
and  Character  of  Ninon  de  1'Enclos  —  Odd  Adventure  of  Courten- 
vaux — Spies  at  Court  —  New  Enlistment  —  Wretched  State  of  the 
Country — Balls  at  Marly. 

Two  very  different  persons  died  toward  the  latter  part 
of  this  year.     The  first  was  Lamoignon,  Chief  Pres- 
ident, the    second,  Ninon,    known  by   the  name    of 
Mademoiselle  de  1'Enclos.     Of  Lamoignon  I  will  relate  a 
single  anecdote,  curious  and  instructive,  which  will  show 
the  corruption  of  which  he  was  capable. 

One  day  —  I  am  speaking  of  a  time  many  years  previ- 
ous to  the  date  of  the  occurrences  just  related  —  one  day 
there  was  a  great  hunting  party  at  Saint  Germain.  The 
chase  was  pursued  so  long,  that  the  King  gave  up,  and 
returned  to  Saint  Germain.  A  number  of  courtiers,  among 
whom  was  M.  de  Lauzun,  who  related  this  story  to  me, 
continued  their  sport;  and  just  as  darkness  was  coming 
on,  discovered  that  they  had  lost  their  way.  After  a 
time,  they  espied  a  light,  by  which  they  guided  their 
steps,  and  at  length  reached  the  door  of  a  kind  of  castle. 
They  knocked,  they  called  aloud,  they  named  themselves, 
and  asked  for  hospitality.  It  was  then  between  ten  and 
eleven  at  night,  and  toward  the  end  of  autumn.  The 
door  was  opened  to  them.  The  master  of  the  house  came 
forth.  He  made  them  take  their  boots  off,  and  warm 
themselves;  he  put  their  horses  into  his  stables;  and  at 
the  same  time  had  a  supper  prepared  for  his  guests,  who 
stood  much  in  need  of  it.  They  did  not  wait  long  for 
the  meal ;  yet  when  served  it  proved  excellent ;  the  wines 
served  with  it,  too,  were  of  several  kinds,  and  excellent 
likewise :  as  for  the  master  of  the  house,  he  was  so  polite 
and  respectful,  yet  without  being  ceremonious  or  eager, 
that  it  was  evident  he  had  frequented  the  best  company. 
The  courtiers  soon  learned  that  his  name  was  Fargues, 
that  the  place  was  called  Courson,  and  that  he  had  lived 

(34i) 


342  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

there  in  retirement  several  years.  After  having  supped, 
Fargues  showed  each  of  them  into  separate  bedrooms, 
where  they  were  waited  upon  by  his  valets  with  every 
proper  attention.  In  the  morning,  as  soon  as  the  courtiers 
had  dressed  themselves,  they  found  an  excellent  break- 
fast awaiting  them ;  and  upon  leaving  the  table  they  saw 
their  horses  ready  for  them,  and  as  thoroughly  attended 
to  as  they  had  been  themselves.  Charmed  with  the 
politeness  and  with  the  manners  of  Fargues,  and  touched 
by  his  hospitable  reception  of  them,  they  made  him  many 
offers  of  service,  and  made  their  way  back  to  Saint  Ger- 
main. Their  nonappearance  on  the  previous  night  had 
been  the  common  talk,  their  return  and  the  adventure 
they  had  met  with  was  no  less  so. 

These  gentlemen  were  then  the  very  flower  of  the 
Court,  and  all  of  them  very  intimate  with  the  King. 
They  related  to  him,  therefore,  their  story,  the  manner 
of  their  reception,  and  highly  praised  the  master  of  the 
house  and  his  good  cheer.  The  King  asked  his  name, 
and,  as  soon  as  he  heard  it,  exclaimed,  ((What,  Fargues! 
is  he  so  near  here,  then  ! B  The  courtiers  redoubled 
their  praises,  and  the  King  said  no  more ;  but  soon  after 
went  to  the  Queen  mother,  and  told  her  what  had  hap- 
pened. 

Fargues,  indeed,  was  no  stranger,  either  to  her  or  to 
the  King.  He  had  taken  a  prominent  part  in  the  move- 
ments of  Paris  against  the  Court  and  Cardinal  Mazarin. 
If  he  had  not  been  hanged  it  was  because  he  was  well 
supported  by  his  party,  who  had  him  included  in  the 
amnesty  granted  to  those  who  had  been  engaged  in  these 
troubles.  Fearing,  however,  that  the  hatred  of  his  ene- 
mies might  place  his  life  in  danger  if  he  remained  in 
Paris,  he  retired  from  the  capital  to  this  country  house 
which  has  just  been  mentioned,  where  he  continued  to 
live  in  strict  privacy,  even  when  the  death  of  Cardinal 
Mazarin  seemed  to  render  such  seclusion  no  longer  nec- 
essary. 

The  King  and  the  Queen  mother,  who  had  pardoned 
Fargues  in  spite  of  themselves,  were  much  annoyed  at 
finding  that  he  was  living  in  opulence  and  tranquillity  so 
near  the  Court;  thought  him  extremely  bold  to  do  so; 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  343 

and  determined  to  punish  him  for  this  and  for  his  former 
insolence.  They  directed  Lamoignon,  therefore,  to  find 
out  something  in  the  past  life  of  Fargues  for  which  pun- 
ishment might  be  awarded;  and  Lamoignon,  eager  to 
please,  and  make  a  profit  out  of  his  eagerness,  was  not 
long  in  satisfying  them.  He  made  researches,  and  found 
means  to  complicate  Fargues  in  a  murder  that  had  been 
committed  in  Paris  at  the  height  of  the  troubles.  Officers 
were  accordingly  sent  to  Courson,  and  its  owner  was  ar- 
rested. 

Fargues  was  much  astonished  when  he  learned  of  what 
he  was  accused.  He  exculpated  himself,  nevertheless, 
completely;  alleging,  moreover,  that  as  the  murder  of 
which  he  was  accused  had  been  committed  during  the 
troubles,  the  amnesty  in  which  he  was  included  effaced  all 
memory  of  the  deed,  according  to  law  and  usage,  which 
had  never  been  contested  until  this  occasion.  The  court- 
iers who  had  been  so  well  treated  by  the  unhappy  man, 
did  everything  they  could  with  the  judges  and  the  King 
to  obtain  the  release  of  the  accused.  It  was  all  in  vain. 
Fargues  was  decapitated  at  once,  and  all  his  wealth  was 
given  by  way  of  recompense  to  the  Chief  President  La- 
moignon, who  had  no  scruple  thus  to  enrich  himself  with 
the  blood  of  the  innocent.* 

The  other  person  who  died  at  the  same  time  was,  as  I 
have  said,  Ninon,  the  famous  courtesan,  known,  since  age 
had  compelled  her  to  quit  that  trade,  as  Mademoiselle  de 
1'Enclos.  She  was  a  new  example  of  the  triumph  of  vice 
carried  on  cleverly  and  repaired  by  some  virtue.  The  stir 
that  she  made,  and  still  more  the  disorder  that  she  caused 
among  the  highest  and  most  brilliant  youth,  overcame 
the  extreme  indulgence  that,  not  without  cause,  the  Queen 
mother  entertained  for  persons  whose  conduct  was  gallant, 
and  more  than  gallant,  and  made  her  send  her  an  order 
to  retire  into  a  convent.  But  Ninon,  observing  that  no 
special  convent  was  named,  said,  with  a  great  courtesy, 

*  It  is  necessary  to  observe  that  some  of  the  details  of  this  story,  es- 
pecially those  that  relate  to  the  infamy  of  Lamoignon,  have  been  denied; 
Fargues,  too,  was  hanged,  not  decapitated ;  but  the  main  fact,  the  initi- 
ative of  the  King  in  this  murder  (of  the  worst  description,  being  perpe- 
trated under  the  forms  of  law)  is  denied  by  no  one. 


344  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

to  the  officer  who  brought  the  order,  that,  as  the  option 
was  left  to  her,  she  would  choose  <(  the  convent  of  the  Cor- 
deliers at  Paris  * ;  which  impudent  joke  so  diverted  the 
Queen  that  she  left  her  alone  for  the  future.  Ninon 
never  had  but  one  lover  at  a  time  —  but  her  admirers 
were  numberless  —  so  that  when  wearied  of  one  incumbent 
she  told  him  so  frankly,  and  took  another.  The  aban- 
doned one  might  groan  and  complain;  her  decree  was 
without  appeal;  and  this  creature  had  acquired  such  an 
influence,  that  the  deserted  lovers  never  dared  to  revenge 
on  the  favored  one,  and  were  too  happy  to  remain  on  the 
footing  of  friend  of  the  house.  She  sometimes  kept  faith- 
ful to  one,  when  he  pleased  her  very  much,  during  an 
entire  campaign. 

Ninon  had  illustrious  friends  of  all  sorts,  and  had  so 
much  wit  that  she  preserved  them  all  and  kept  them  on 
good  terms  with  each  other;  or,  at  least,  no  quarrels  ever 
came  to  light.  There  was  an  external  respect  and  decency 
about  everything  that  passed  in  her  house,  such  as 
princesses  of  the  highest  rank  have  rarely  been  able  to 
preserve  in  their  intrigues. 

In  this  way  she  had  among  her  friends  a  selection 
of  the  best  members  of  the  Court;  so  that  it  became 
the  fashion  to  be  received  by  her,  and  it  was  useful 
to  be  so,  on  account  of  the  connections  that  were 
thus  formed.  There  was  never  any  gambling  there,  nor 
loud  laughing,  nor  disputes,  nor  talk  about  religion  or 
politics;  but  much  and  elegant  wit,  ancient  and  modern 
stories,  news  of  gallantries,  yet  without  scandal.  All 
was  delicate,  light,  measured ;  and  she  herself  maintained 
the  conversation  by  her  wit  and  her  great  knowledge  of 
facts.  The  respect  which,  strange  to  say,  she  had  ac- 
quired, and  the  number  and  distinction  of  her  friends 
and  acquaintances,  continued  when  her  charms  ceased 
to  attract;  and  when  propriety  and  fashion  compelled  her 
to  use  only  intellectual  baits.  She  knew  all  the  intrigues 
of  the  old  and  the  new  Court,  serious  and  otherwise ;  her 
conversation  was  charming;  she  was  disinterested,  faith- 
ful, secret,  safe  to  the  last  degree ;  and,  setting  aside  her 
frailty,  virtuous  and  full  of  probity.  She  frequently  suc- 
cored her  friends  with  money  and  influence ;  constantly 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  345 

did  them  the  most  important  services,  and  very  faithfully 
kept  the  secrets  or  the  money  deposits  that  were  confided 
to  her. 

She  had  been  intimate  with  Madame  de  Maintenon 
during  the  whole  of  her  residence  at  Paris;  but  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  although  not  daring  to  disavow  this  friend- 
ship, did  not  like  to  hear  her  spoken  about.  She  wrote 
to  Ninon  with  amity  from  time  to  time,  even  until  her 
death;  and  Ninon  in  like  manner,  when  she  wanted  to 
serve  any  friend  in  whom  she  took  great  interest,  wrote 
to  Madame  de  Maintenon,  who  did  her  what  service  she 
required  efficaciously  and  with  promptness.  But  since 
Madame  de  Maintenon  came  to  power,  they  had  only 
seen  each  other  two  or  three  times,  and  then  in  secret. 

Ninon  was  remarkable  for  her  repartees.  One  that  she 
made  to  the  last  Mare*chal  de  Choiseul,  is  worth  repeat- 
ing. The  Mare*chal  was  virtue  itself,  but  not  fond  of 
company  or  blessed  with  much  wit.  One  day,  after  a 
long  visit  he  had  paid  her,  Ninon  gaped,  looked  at  the 
Mare"chal,  and  cried: 

w  Oh,  my  lord !  how  many  virtues  you  make  me  detest ! w 

A  line  from  I  know  not  what  play.  The  laughter  at 
this  may  be  imagined.  L'Enclos  lived  long  beyond  her 
eightieth  year,  always  healthy,  visited,  respected.  She 
gave  her  last  years  to  God,  and  her  death  was  the  news 
of  the  day.  The  singularity  of  this  personage  has  made 
me  extend  my  observations  upon  her. 

A  short  time  after  the  death  of  Mademoiselle  de 
1'Enclos,  a  terrible  adventure  happened  to  Courtenvaux, 
eldest  son  of  M.  de  Louvois.  Courtenvaux  was  com- 
mander of  the  Cent-Suisses,  fond  of  obscure  debauches; 
with  a  ridiculous  voice,  miserly,  quarrelsome,  though 
modest  and  respectful;  and  in  fine  a  very  stupid  fellow. 
The  King,  more  eager  to  know  all  that  was  passing  than 
most  people  believed,  although  they  gave  him  credit  for 
not  a  little  curiosity  in  this  respect,  had  authorized  Bon- 
tems  to  engage  a  number  of  Swiss  in  addition  to  those 
posted  at  the  doors,  and  in  the  parks  and  gardens. 
These  attendants  had  orders  to  stroll  morning,  noon,  and 
night,  along  the  corridors,  the  passages,  the  staircases, 
even  into  the  private  places,  and,  when  it  was  fine,  in 


346  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

the  courtyards  and  gardens;  and  in  secret  to  watch  peo- 
ple, to  follow  them,  to  notice  where  they  went,  to  notice 
who  was  there,  to  listen  to  all  the  conversation  they 
could  hear,  and  to  make  reports  of  their  discoveries. 
This  was  assiduously  done  at  Versailles,  at  Marly,  at 
Trianon,  at  Fontainebleau,  and  in  all  the  places  where 
the  King  was.  These  new  attendants  vexed  Courtenvaux 
considerably  for  over  such  newcomers  he  had  no  sort 
of  authority.  This  season,  at  Fontainebleau,  a  room, 
which  had  formerly  been  occupied  by  a  party  of  the 
Cent-Suisses  and  of  the  bodyguard,  was  given  up  entirely 
to  the  new  corps.  The  room  was  in  a  public  passage 
of  communication  indispensable  to  all  in  the  chateau  and 
in  consequence,  excellently  well  adapted  for  watching 
those  who  passed  through  it.  Courtenvaux  more  than 
ever  vexed  by  this  new  arrangement,  regarded  it  as  a 
fresh  encroachment  upon  his  authority,  and  flew  into  a 
violent  rage  with  the  newcomers,  and  railed  at  them  in 
good  set  terms.  They  allowed  him  to  fume  as  he  would ; 
they  had  their  orders,  and  were  too  wise  to  be  disturbed 
by  his  rage.  The  King,  who  heard  of  all  this,  sent  at 
once  for  Courtenvaux.  As  soon  as  he  appeared  in  the 
cabinet,  the  King  called  to  him  from  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  without  giving  him  time  to  approach,  and  in  a 
rage  so  terrible,  and  for  him  so  novel,  that  not  only 
Courtenvaux,  but  princes,  princesses,  and  everybody  in 
the  chamber,  trembled.  Menaces  that  his  post  should  be 
taken  away  from  him,  terms  the  most  severe  and  the 
most  unusual,  rained  upon  Courtenvaux,  who,  fainting 
with  fright,  and  ready  to  sink  under  the  ground,  had 
neither  the  time  nor  the  means  to  prefer  a  word.  The 
reprimand  finished  by  the  King  saying,  "Get  out.w  He 
had  scarcely  the  strength  to  obey. 

The  cause  of  this  strange  scene  was  that  Courtenvaux, 
by  the  fuss  he  had  made,  had  drawn  the  attention  of  the 
whole  Court  to  the  change  effected  by  the  King,  and  that, 
when  once  seen,  its  object  was  clear  to  all  eyes.  The 
King,  who  hid  his  spy  system  with  the  greatest  care, 
had  counted  upon  this  change  passing  unperceived,  and 
was  beside  himself  with  anger  when  he  found  it  made 
apparent  to  everybody  by  Courtenvaux's  noise.  He  never 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  347 

regained  the  King's  favor  during  the  rest  of  his  life ;  and 
but  for  his  family  he  would  certainly  have  been  driven 
away,  and  his  office  taken  from  him. 

Let  me  speak  now  of  something  of  more  moment. 
The  war,  as  I  have  said,  still  continued,  but  without 
bringing  us  any  advantages.  On  the  contrary,  our  losses 
in  Germany  and  Italy  by  sickness,  rather  than  by  the 
sword,  were  so  great  that  it  was  resolved  to  augment 
each  company  by  five  men;  and,  at  the  same  time, 
twenty-five  thousand  militia  were  raised,  thus  causing 
great  ruin  and  great  desolation  in  the  provinces.  The 
King  was  rocked  into  the  belief  that  the  people  were  all 
anxious  to  enter  this  militia,  and,  from  time  to  time,  at 
Marly,  specimens  of  those  enlisted  were  shown  to  him, 
and  their  joy  and  eagerness  to  serve  made  much  of.  I 
have  heard  this  often;  while,  at  the  same  time,  I  knew 
from  my  own  tenantry,  and  from  everything  that  was 
said,  that  the  raising  of  this  militia  carried  despair  every- 
where, and  that  many  people  mutilated  themselves  in 
order  to  exempt  themselves  from  serving.  Nobody  at 
the  Court  was  ignorant  of  this.  People  lowered  their 
eyes  when  they  saw  the  deceit  practiced  upon  the  King, 
and  the  credulity  he  displayed,  and  afterward  whispered 
one  to  another  what  they  thought  of  flattery  so  ruinous. 
Fresh  regiments,  too,  were  raised  at  this  time,  and  a 
crowd  of  new  colonels  and  staffs  created,  instead  of  giv- 
ing a  new  battalion  or  a  squadron  additional  to  regiments 
already  in  existence.  I  saw  quite  plainly  toward  what  rock 
we  were  drifting.  We  had  met  losses  at  Hochstedt, 
Gibraltar  and  Barcelona ;  Catalonia  and  the  neighboring 
countries  were  in  revolt;  Italy  yielding  us  nothing  but 
miserable  successes;  Spain  exhausted;  France  failing  in 
men  and  money,  and  with  incapable  generals,  protected 
by  the  Court  against  their  faults.  I  saw  all  these  things 
so  plainly  that  I  could  not  avoid  making  reflections,  or 
reporting  them  to  my  friends  in  office.  I  thought  that 
it  was  time  to  finish  the  war  before  we  sank  still  lower, 
and  that  it  might  be  finished  by  giving  to  the  Archduke 
what  we  could  not  defend,  and  making  a  division  of  the 
rest.  My  plan  was  to  leave  Philip  V.  possession  of  all 
Italy,  except  those  parts  which  belonged  to  the  Grand 


348        MEMOIRS  OF  THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

Duke,  the  republics  of  Venice  and  Genoa,  and  the 
ecclesiastical  States  of  Naples  and  Sicily;  our  King  to 
have  Lorraine  and  some  other  slight  additions  of  territory ; 
and  to  place  elsewhere  the  Dukes  of  Savoy,  of  Lorraine, 
of  Parma,  and  of  Modena.  I  related  this  plan  to  the 
Chancellor  and  to  Chamillart,  among  others.  The  con- 
trast between  their  replies  was  striking.  The  Chan- 
cellor, after  having  listened  to  me  very  attentively,  said, 
if  my  plan  were  adopted,  he  would  most  willingly  kiss 
my  toe  for  joy.  Chamillart,  with  gravity  replied,  that 
the  King  would  not  give  up  a  single  mill  of  all  the 
Spanish  succession.  Then  I  felt  the  blindness  which  had 
fallen  upon  us,  and  how  much  the  results  of  it  were  to 
be  dreaded. 

Nevertheless,  the  King,  as  if  to  mock  at  misfortune 
and  to  show  his  enemies  the  little  uneasiness  he  felt, 
determined,  at  the  commencement  of  the  new  year,  1706, 
that  the  Court  should  be  gayer  than  ever.  He  announced 
that  there  would  be  balls  at  Marly  every  time  he  was 
there  this  winter,  and  he  named  those  who  were  to  dance 
there ;  and  said  he  should  be  very  glad  to  see  balls  given 
to  Madame  de  Bourgogne  at  Versailles.  Accordingly, 
many  took  place  there,  and  also  at  Marly,  and  from  time 
to  time  there  were  masquerades.  One  day,  the  King 
wished  that  everybody,  even  the  most  aged,  who  were  at 
Marly  should  go  to  the  ball  masqued;  and,  to  avoid  all 
distinction,  he  went  there  himself  with  a  gauze  robe 
above  his  habit;  but  such  a  slight  disguise  was  for  him- 
self alone;  everybody  else  was  completely  disguised.  M. 
and  Madame  de  Beauvilliers  were  there  perfectly  dis- 
guised. When  I  say  THEY  were  there,  those  who  knew 
the  Court  will  admit  that  I  have  said  more  than  enough. 
I  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  them,  and  of  quietly  laugh- 
ing with  them.  At  all  these  balls  the  King  made  people 
dance  who  had  long  since  passed  the  age  for  doing  so. 
As  for  the  Comte  de  Brionne  and  the  Chevalier  de 
Sully,  their  dancing  was  so  perfect  that  there  was  no  age 
for  them. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

Arrival  of  Vendome  at  Court  —  Character  of  that  disgusting  Personage 
—  Rise  of  Cardinal  Alberoni  —  Vendome's  reception  at  Marly — His 
unheard-of  Triumph  —  His  high  Flight — Returns  to  Italy  —  Battle 
of  Calcinate  —  Condition  of  the  Army — Pique  of  the  Marechal  de 
Villeroy  —  Battle  of  Ramilies  —  Its  Consequences. 

IN  THE  midst  of  all  this  gaiety,  that  is  to  say,  on  the 
1 2th  of  February,  1706,  one  of  our  generals,  of  whom 
I  have  often  spoken,  I  mean  M.  de  Vendome,  arrived 
at  Marly.  He  had  not  quitted  Italy  since  succeeding  to 
Mardchal  de  Villeroy,  after  the  affair  of  Cremona.  His 
battles,  such  as  they  were,  the  places  he  had  taken,  the 
authority  he  had  assumed,  the  reputation  he  had  usurped, 
his  incomprehensible  successes  with  the  King,  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  support  he  leaned  on, —  all  this  inspired 
him  with  the  desire  to  come  and  enjoy  at  court  a  situ- 
ation so  brilliant,  and  which  so  far  surpassed  what  he 
had  a  right  to  expect.  But  before  speaking  of  the  re- 
ception which  was  given  him,  and  of  the  incredible 
ascendancy  he  took,  let  me  paint  him  from  the  life  a 
little  more  completely  than  I  have  yet  done.  * 

Vendome  was  of  ordinary  height,  rather  stout,  but 
vigorous  and  active:  with  a  very  noble  countenance  and 
lofty  mien.  There  was  much  natural  grace  in  his  car- 
riage and  words  ;  he  had  a  good  deal  of  innate  wit, 
which  he  had  not  cultivated,  and  spoke  easily,  supported 
by  a  natural  boldness,  which  afterward  turned  to  the 
wildest  audacity  ;  he  knew  the  world  and  the  Court  ;  was 
above  all  things  an  admirable  courtier  ;  was  polite  when 
necessary,  but  insolent  when  he  dared  —  familiar  with 
common  people — in  reality  full  of  the  most  ravenous 

*  It  is  impossible  to  give  intact  the  portrait  sketched  by  Saint-Simon 
of  this  disgusting  personage.  I  have  ventured  as  far  as  I  could,  in  order 
to  show  what  sort  of  person  was  required  to  earn  all  the  endearments  of 
a  Great  King. 

(349) 


350  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

pride.  As  his  rank  rose  and  his  favor  increased,  his 
obstinacy,  and  pig-headedness  increased  too,  so  that  at 
last  he  would  listen  to  no  advice  whatever,  and  was  in- 
accessible to  all,  except  a  small  number  'of  familiars  and 
valets.  No  one  better  than  he  knew  the  subserviency  of 
the  French  character,  or  took  more  advantage  of  it. 
Little  by  little  he  accustomed  his  subalterns,  and  then 
from  one  to  the  other  all  his  army,  to  call  him  nothing 
but  <(  Monseigneur,  *  and  w  Your  Highness.  *  In  time  the 
gangrene  spread,  and  even  lieutenant-generals  and  the 
most  distinguished  people  did  not  dare  to  address  him  in 
any  other  manner. 

The  most  wonderful  thing  to  whoever  knew  the  King 
—  so  gallant  to  the  ladies  during  a  long  part  of  his  life, 
so  devout  the  other,  and  often  importunate  to  make  oth- 
ers do  as  he  did — was  that  the  said  King  had  always  a 
singular  horror  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  Cities  of  the 
Plain;  and  yet  M.  de  Vendome,  though  most  odiously 
stained  with  that  vice  —  so  publicly  that  he  treated  it  as  an 
ordinary  gallantry  —  never  found  his  favor  diminish  on 
that  account.  The  Court,  Anet,  the  army,  knew  of  these 
abominations.  Valets  and  subaltern  officers  soon  found 
the  way  to  promotion.  I  have  already  mentioned  how 
publicly  he  placed  himself  in  the  doctor's  hands,  and 
how  basely  the  Court  acted,  imitating  the  King,  who 
would  never  have  pardoned  a  legitimate  prince  what  he 
indulged  so  strangely  in  Vendome. 

The  idleness  of  M.  de  Vendome  was  equally  matter 
of  notoriety.  More  than  once  he  ran  the  risk  of  be- 
ing taken  prisoner  from  mere  indolence.  He  rarely 
himself  saw  anything  at  the  army,  trusting  to  his  famil- 
iars when  ready  to  trust  anybody.  The  way  he  employed 
his  day  prevented  any  real  attention  to  business.  He 
was  filthy  in  the  extreme,  and  proud  of  it.  Fools  called 
it  simplicity.  His  bed  was  always  full  of  dogs  and  bitches, 
who  littered  at  his  side,  the  pups  rolling  in  the  clothes. 
He  himself  was  under  constraint  in  nothing.  One  of  his 
theses  was  that  everybody  resembled  him,  but  was  not 
honest  enough  to  confess  it  as  he  was.  He  mentioned  this 
once  to  the  Princess  de  Conti  —  the  cleanest  person  in  the 
world,  and  the  most  delicate  in  her  cleanliness. 


DtJKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  351 

He  rose  rather  late  when  at  the  army.  ...  In 
this  situation  he  wrote  his  letters,  and  gave  his  morning 
orders.  Whoever  had  business  with  him,  general  officers 
and  distinguished  persons,  could  speak  to  him  then.  He 
had  accustomed  the  army  to  this  infamy.  At  the  same 
time  he  gobbled  his  breakfast;  and  while  he  ate,  listened 
or  gave  orders,  many  spectators  always  standing  around. 
.  .  .  (I  must  be  excused  these  disgraceful  details,  in 
order  better  to  make  him  known).  .  .  .  On  shaving 
days  he  used  the  same  vessel  to  lather  his  chin  in.  This, 
according  to  him,  was  a  simplicity  of  manner  worthy  of 
the  ancient  Romans,  and  which  condemned  the  splendor 
and  superfluity  of  the  others.  When  all  was  over,  he 
dressed ;  then  played  high  at  piquet  or  hombre;  or  rode  out, 
if  it  was  absolutely  necessary.  All  was  now  over  for  the 
day.  He  supped  copiously  with  his  familiars :  was  a  great 
eater,  of  wonderful  gluttony;  a  connoisseur  in  no  dish, 
liked  fish  much,  but  the  stale  and  stinking  better  than 
the  good.  The  meal  prolonged  itself  in  theses  and  dis- 
putes, and  above  all  in  praise  and  flattery. 

He  would  never  have  forgiven  the  slightest  blame  from 
anyone.  He  wanted  to  pass  for  the  first  captain  of  his 
age,  and  spoke  with  indecent  contempt  of  .Prince  Eugene 
and  all  the  others.  The  faintest  contradiction  would  have 
been  a  crime.  The  soldier  and  the  subaltern  adored  him 
for  his  familiarity  with  them,  and  the  license  he  allowed 
in  order  to  gain  their  hearts;  for  all  which  he  made  up 
by  excessive  haughtiness  toward  whoever  was  elevated 
by  rank  or  birth. 

On  one  occasion  the  Duke  of  Parma  sent  the  bishop 
of  that  place  to  negotiate  some  affair  with  him;  but  M. 
de  Vendome  took  such  disgusting  liberties  in  his  pres- 
ence, that  the  ecclesiastic,  though  without  saying  a  word, 
returned  to  Parma,  and  declared  to  his  master  that  never 
would  he  undertake  such  an  embassy  again.  In  his  place 
another  envoy  was  sent,  the  famous  Alberoni.  He  was 
the  son  of  a  gardener,  who  become  an  Abbe  in  order  to 
get  on.  He  was  full  of  buffoonery;  and  pleased  M.  de 
Parma  as  might  a  valet  who  amused  him,  but  he  soon 
showed  talent  and  capacity  for  affairs.  The  Duke 
thought  that  the  night  chair  of  M.  de  Vendome  required 


352  MEMOIRS  OF   THE  ' 

no  other  ambassador  than  Alberoni,  who  was  accordingly 
sent  to  conclude  what  the  bishop  had  left  undone.  The 
Abbe"  determined  to  please,  and  was  not  proud.  M.  de 
Vendome  exhibited  himself  as  before ;  and  Alberoni,  by 
an  infamous  act  of  personal  adoration,  gained  his  heart. 
He  was  thenceforth  much  with  him,  made  cheese  soup 
and  other  odd  messes  for  him;  and  finally  worked  his 
way.  It  is  true  he  was  cudgelled  by  some  one  he  had 
offended,  for  a  thousand  paces,  in  sight  of  the  whole 
army,  but  this  did  not  prevent  his  advancement.  Ven- 
dome liked  such  an  unscrupulous  flatterer ;  and  yet  as  we 
have  seen,  he  was  not  in  want  of  praise.  The  extraor- 
dinary favor  shown  him  by  the  King  —  the  credulity 
with  which  his  accounts  of  victories  were  received  — 
showed  to  everyone  in  what  direction  their  laudation  was 
to  be  sent. 

Such  was  the  man  whom  the  King  and  the  whole  Court 
hastened  to  caress  and  flatter  from  the  first  moment  of 
his  arrival  among  us.  There  was  a  terrible  hubbub: 
boys,  porters,  and  valets  rallied  round  his  post  chaise 
when  he  reached  Marly.  Scarcely  had  he  ascended  into 
his  chamber,  when  everybody,  princes,  bastards,  and  all 
the  rest,  ran  after  him.  The  ministers  followed:  so  that 
in  a  short  time  nobody  was  left  in  the  salon  but  the 
ladies.  M.  de  Beauvilliers  was  at  Vaucresson.  As  for 
me,  I  remained  spectator,  and  did  not  go  and  adore  this  idol. 

In  a  few  minutes  Vend6me  was  sent  for  by  the  King 
and  Monseigneur.  As  soon  as  he  could  dress  himself, 
surrounded  as  he  was  by  such  a  crowd,  he  went  to  the 
salon,  carried  by  it  rather  than  environed.  Monseigneur 
stopped  the  music  that  was  playing,  in  order  to  embrace 
him.  The  King  left  the  cabinet  where  he  was  at  work, 
and  came  out  to  meet  him,  embracing  him  several  times. 
Chamillart  on  the  morrow  gave  a  f$te  in  his  honor  at 
L'Etang,  which  lasted  two  days.  Following  his  example, 
Pontchartrain,  Torcy,  and  the  most  distinguished  lords  of 
the  Court  did  the  same.  People  begged  and  entreated  to 
give  him  fetes;  people  begged  and  entreated  to  be  invited 
to  them.  Never  was  triumph  equal  to  his;  each  step 
he  took  procured  him  a  new  one.  It  is  not  too  much  to 
say,  that  everybody  disappeared  before  him,  princes  of 


DUKE  OF   SAINT-SIMON  353 

the  blood,  ministers,  the  grandest  seigneurs,  all  appeared 
only  to  show  how  high  he  was  above  them;  even  the 
King  seemed  only  to  remain  King  to  elevate  him  more. 

The  people  joined  in  this  enthusiasm,  both  in  Versailles 
and  at  Paris,  where  he  went  under  pretense  of  going  to 
the  opera.  As  he  passed  along  the  streets,  crowds  col- 
lected to  cheer  him;  they  billed  him  at  the  doors,  and 
every  seat  was  taken  in  advance;  people  pushed  and 
squeezed  everywhere,  and  the  price  of  admission  was 
doubled,  as  on  the  nights  of  first  performances.  Ven- 
dome, who  received  all  these  homages  with  extreme  ease, 
was  yet  internally  surprised  by  a  folly  so  universal.  He 
feared  that  all  this  heat  would  not  last  out  even  the  short 
stay  he  intended  to  make.  To  keep  himself  more  in  re- 
serve, he  asked  and  obtained  permission  to  go  to  Anet, 
in  the  intervals  between  the  journeys  to  Marly.  All  the 
Court,  however,  followed  him  there,  and  the  King  was 
pleased  rather  than  otherwise,  at  seeing  Versailles  half 
deserted  for  Anet,  actually  asking  some  if  they  had  been, 
others,  when  they  intended  to  go. 

It  was  evident  that  everyone  had  resolved  to  raise 
M.  de  Vendome  to  the  rank  of  a  hero.  He  determined 
to  profit  by  their  resolution.  If  they  made  him  Mars, 
why  should  he  not  act  as  such  ?  He  claimed  to  be 
appointed  commander  of  the  mare'chals  of  France,  and 
although  the  King  refused  him  this  favor,  he  accorded 
him  one  which  was  but  the  stepping-stone  to  it.  M. 
de  Vendome  went  away  toward  the  middle  of  March  to 
command  the  army  in  Italy,  with  a  letter  signed  by  the 
King  himself,  promising  him  that  if  a  mare'chal  of  France 
were  sent  to  Italy,  that  mare'chal  was  to  take  commands 
from  him.  M.  de  Vendome  was  content,  and  determined 
to  obtain  all  he  asked  on  a  future  day.  The  disposition 
of  the  armies  had  been  arranged  just  before.  Tesse",  for 
Catalonia  and  Spain;  Berwick,  for  the  frontier  of  Portu- 
gal ;  Mare'chal  Villars,  for  Alsace ;  Marsin,  for  the  Mo- 
selle; Mare'chal  de  Villeroy,  for  Flanders;  and  M.  de 
Vendome,  as  I  have  said,  for  Italy. 

Now  that  I    am  speaking   of   the   armies,  let    me    give 
here  an  account  of  all  our  military  operations  this  year, 
so  as  to  complete  that  subject  at  once. 
23 


354  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

M.  de  Vendome  commenced  his  Italian  campaign  by  a 
victory.  He  attacked  the  troops  of  Prince  Eugene  upon 
the  heights  of  Calcinate,  drove  them  before  him,  killed 
three  thousand  men,  took  twenty  standards,  ten  pieces 
of  cannon,  and  eight  thousand  prisoners.  It  was  a  rout 
rather  than  a  combat.  The  enemy  was  much  inferior  in 
force  to  us,  and  was  without  its  general,  Prince  Eugene, 
he  not  having  returned  to  open  the  campaign.  He  came 
back,  however,  the  day  after  this  engagement,  soon 
re-established  order  among  his  troops,  and  M.  de  Ven- 
dome from  that  time,  far  from  being  able  to  recommence 
the  attack,  was  obliged  to  keep  strictly  on  the  defensive 
while  he  remained  in  Italy.  He  did  not  fail  to  make 
the  most  of  his  victory,  which,  however,  to  say  the 
truth,  led  to  nothing. 

Our  armies  just  now  were,  it  must  be  admitted,  in  by 
no  means  a  good  condition.  The  generals  owed  their 
promotion  to  favor  and  fantasy.  The  King  thought  he 
gave  them  capacity  when  he  gave  them  their  patents. 
Under  M.  de  Turenne  the  army  had  afforded,  as  in  a 
school,  opportunities  for  young  officers  to  learn  the  art 
of  warfare,  and  to  qualify  themselves  step  by  step  to 
take  command.  They  were  promoted  as  they  showed 
signs  of  their  capacity,  and  gave  proof  of  their  talent. 
Now,  however,  it  was  very  different.  Promotion  was 
granted  according  to  length  of  service,  thus  rendering 
all  application  and  diligence  unnecessary,  except  when 
M.  de  Louvois  suggested  to  the  King  such  officers  as  he 
had  private  reasons  for  being  favorable  to,  and  whose 
actions  he  could  control.  He  persuaded  the  King  that  it 
was  he  himself  who  ought  to  direct  the  armies  from  his 
cabinet.  The  King,  flattered  by  this,  swallowed  the  bait, 
and  Louvois  himself  was  thus  enabled  to  govern  in  the 
name  of  the  King,  to  keep  the  generals  in  leading-strings, 
and  to  fetter  their  every  movement.  In  consequence  of 
the  way  in  which  promotions  were  made,  the  greatest 
ignorance  prevailed  among  all  grades  of  officers.  None 
knew  scarcely  anything  more  than  mere  routine  duties, 
and  sometimes  not  even  so  much  as  that.  The  luxury 
which  had  inundated  the  army  too,  where  everybody 
wished  to  live  as  delicately  as  at  Paris,  hindered  the 


DUKE  OF  SAINT-SIMON  355 

general  officers  from  associating  with  the  other  officers, 
and  in  consequence  from  knowing  and  appreciating  them. 
As  a  matter  of  course,  there  were  no  longer  any  delibera- 
tions upon  the  state  of  affairs,  in  which  the  young  might 
profit  by  the  counsels  of  the  old,  and  the  army  profit  by 
the  discussions  of  all.  The  young  officers  talked  only  of 
play  and  women;  the  old,  of  forage  and  equipages;  the 
generals  spent  half  their  time  in  writing  costly  dispatches, 
often  useless,  and  sending  them  away  by  couriers.  The 
luxury  of  the  Court  and  city  had  spread  into  the  army, 
so  that  delicacies  were  carried  there  unknown  formerly. 
Nothing  was  spoken  of  but  of  hot  dishes  in  the  marches 
and  in  the  detachments;  and  the  repasts  that  were  car- 
ried to  the  trenches,  during  sieges,  were  not  only  well 
served,  but  ices  and  fruits  were  partaken  of  as  at  a  f£te, 
and  a  profusion  of  all  sorts  of  liquors.  Expense  ruined\ 
the  officers,  who  vied  with  each  other  in  their  endeavors, 
to  appear  magnificent;  and  the  things  to  be  carried,  the 
work  to  be  done,  quadrupled  the  number  of  domestics - 
and  grooms,  who  often  starved.  For  a  long  time,  people 
had  complained  of  all  this;  even  those  who  were  put  to- 
the  expenses  which  ruined  them ;  but  none  dared  to  spend, 
less.  At  last,  that  is  to  say,  in  the  spring  of  the  follow^ 
ing  year,  the  King  made  severe  rules,  with  the  object 
of  bringing  about  a  reform  in  this  particular.  There  is 
no  country  in  Europe  where  there  are  so  many  fine  laws, 
or  where  the  observance  of  them  is  of  shorter  duration. 
It  often  happens,  that  in  the  first  year  all  are  infringed, 
and  in  the  second  forgotten.  Such  was  the  army  at  this 
time,  and  we  soon  had  abundant  opportunities  to  note 
its  incapacity  to  overcome  the  enemies  with  whom  we 
had  to  contend. 

The  King  wished  to  open  this  campaign  with  two  bat- 
tles ;  one  in  Italy,  the  other  in  Flanders.  His  desire  was 
to  some  extent  gratified  in  the  former  case;  but  in  the 
other  he  met  with  a  sad  and  cruel  disappointment.  Since 
the  departure  of  Marechal  de  Villeroy  for  Flanders,  the 
King  had  more  than  once  pressed  him  to  engage  the  en- 
emy. The  Marechal,  piqued  with  these  reiterated  orders, 
which  he  considered  as  reflections  upon  his  courage,  de- 
termined to  risk  anything  in  order  to  satisfy  the  desire 


356  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

of  the  King.  But  the  King  did  not  wish  this.  At  the 
same  time  that  he  wished  for  a  battle  in  Flanders,  he 
wished  to  place  Villeroy  in  a  state  to  fight  it.  He  sent 
orders,  therefore,  to  Marsin  to  take  eighteen  battalions 
and  twenty  squadrons  of  his  army,  to  proceed  to  the  Mo- 
selle, where  he  would  find  twenty  others,  and  then  to 
march  with  the  whole  into  Flanders,  and  join  Mare"chal 
de  Villeroy.  At  the  same  time  he  prohibited  the  latter 
from  doing  anything  until  this  reinforcement  reached 
"him.  Four  couriers,  one  after  the  other,  carried  this  pro- 
hibition to  the ,  Mare"chal ;  but  he  had  determined  to  give 
l>attle  without  assistance,  and  he  did  so,  with  what  result 
will  be  seen. 

On  the  24th  of  May  he  posted  himself  between  the 
villages  of  Taviers  and  Ramillies.  He  was  superior  in 
force  to  the  Duke  of  Marlborough  who  was  opposed  to 
him,  and  this  fact  gave  him  confidence.  Yet  the 
position  which  he  had  taken  up  was  one  which  was  well 
known  to  be  bad.  The  late  M.  de  Luxembourg  had  de- 
clared it  so,  and  had  avoided  it.  M.  de  Villeroy  had 
been  a  witness  of  this,  but  it  was  his  destiny  and  that 
of  France  that  he  should  forget  it.  Before  he  took  up 
this  position  he  announced  that  it  was  his  intention  to 
do  so  to  M.  d'Orle'ans.  M.  d'Orle'ans  said  publicly  to  all 
who  came  to  listen,  that  if  M.  de  Villeroy  did  so  he 
would  be  beaten.  M.  d'Orle'ans  proved  to  be  only  too 
good  a  prophet. 

Just  as  M.  de  Villeroy  had  taken  up  his  position  and 
made  his  arrangements,  the  Elector  arrived  in  hot  haste 
from  Brussels.  It  was  too  late  now  to  blame  what  had 
been  done.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  com- 
plete what  had  been  already  begun,  and  await  the  re- 
sult. 

It  was  about  two  hours  after  midday  when  the  enemy 
arrived  within  range,  and  came  under  our  fire  from 
Ramillies.  It  forced  them  to  halt  until  their  cannon 
could  be  brought  into  play,  which  was  soon  done.  The 
cannonade  lasted  a  good  hour.  At  the  end  of  that  time 
they  marched  to  Taviers,  where  a  part  of  our  army  was 
posted,  found  but  little  resistance,  and  made  themselves 
masters  of  that  place.  From  that  moment  they  brought 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  357 

their  cavalry  to  bear.  They  perceived  that  there  was  a 
marsh  which  covered  our  left,  but  which  hindered  our 
two  wings  from  joining.  They  made  good  use  of  the 
advantage  this  gave  them.  We  were  taken  in  the  rear 
at  more  than  one  point,  and  Taviers  being  no  longer 
able  to  assist  us,  Ramillies  itself  fell,  after  a  prodigious 
fire  and  an  obstinate  resistance.  The  Comte  de  Guiche 
at  the  head  of  the  regiment  of  guards  defended  it  for 
four  hours,  and  performed  prodigies,  but  in  the  end  he 
was  obliged  to  give  way.  All  this  time  our  left  had  been 
utterly  useless  with  its  nose  in  tjie  marsh,  no  enemy  in 
front  of  it,  and  with  strict  orders  not  to  budge  from  its 
position. 

Our  retreat  commenced  in  good  order,  but  soon  the 
night  came  and  threw  us  into  confusion.  The  defile  of 
Judoigne  became  so  gorged  with  baggage  and  with  the 
wrecks  of  the  artillery  we  had  been  able  to  save,  that 
everything  was  taken  from  us  there.  Nevertheless,  we 
arrived  at  Louvain,  and  then  not  feeling  in  safety,  passed 
the  canal  of  Wilworde  without  being  very  closely  followed 
by  the  enemy. 

We  lost  in  this  battle  four  thousand  men  and  many 
prisoners  of  rank,  all  of  whom  were  treated  with  much 
politeness  by  Marlborough.  Brussels  was  one  of  the  first 
fruits  he  gathered  of  this  victory,  which  had  such  grave 
and  important  results. 

The  King  did  not  learn  this  disaster  until  Wednesday, 
the  26th  of  May,  at  his  waking.  I  was  at  Versailles. 
Never  was  such  trouble  or  such  consternation.  The 
worst  was,  that  only  the  broad  fact  was  known;  for  six 
days  we  were  without  a  courier  to  give  us  details.  Even 
the  post  was  stopped.  Days  seemed  like  years  in  the 
ignorance  of  everybody  as  to  details,  and  in  the  inquie- 
tude of  everybody  for  relatives  and  friends.  The  King; 
was  forced  to  ask  one  and  another  for  news ;  but  nobody 
could  tell  him  any.  Worn  out  at  last  by  the  silence,  he 
determined  to  dispatch  Chamillart  to  Flanders  to  ascer- 
tain the  real  state  of  affairs.  Chamillart  accordingly  left 
Versailles  on  Sunday,  the  3oth  of  May,  to  the  astonish- 
ment of  all  the  Court,  at  seeing  a  man  charged  with  the 
war  and  the  finance  department  sent  on  such  an  errand. 


358  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

He  astonished  no  less  the  army,  when  he  arrived  at 
Courtrai,  where  it  had  stationed  itself.  Having  gained 
all  the  information  he  sought,  Chamillart  returned  to 
Versailles  on  Friday,  the  4th  of  June,  at  about  eight 
o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  at  once  went  to  the  King, 
who  was  in  the  apartments  of  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
It  was  known  then  that  the  army,  after  several  hasty 
marches,  finding  itself  at  Ghent,  the  Elector  of  Bavaria 
had  insisted  that  it  ought  at  least  to  remain  there.  A 
council  of  war  was  held,  the  Mare"chal  de  Villeroy,  who 
was  quite  discouraged  by  the  loss  he  had  sustained, 
opposed  the  advice  of  the  Elector.  Ghent  was  aban- 
doned, so  was  the  open  country.  The  army  was  separated 
and  distributed  here  and  there,  under  the  command  of 
the  general  officers.  In  this  way,  with  the  exception  of 
Namur,  Mons,  and  a  very  few  other  places,  all  the  Span- 
ish Low  Countries  were  lost,  and  a  part  of  ours,  even. 
Never  was  rapidity  equal  to  this.  The  enemies  were  as 
much  astonished  as  we. 

However  tranquilly  the  King  sustained  in  appearance 
this  misfortune,  he  felt  it  to  the  quick.  He  was  so 
affected  by  what  was  said  of  his  bodyguards,  that  he 
spoke  of  them  himself  with  bitterness.  Court  warriors 
testified  in  their  favor,  but  persuaded  nobody.  But  the 
King  seized  these  testimonies  with  joy,  and  sent  word  to 
the  guards  that  he  was  well  contented  with  them.  Others, 
however,  were  not  so  easily  satisfied. 

This  sad  reverse  and  the  discontent  of  the  Elector 
made  the  King  feel  at  last  that  his  favorites  must  give 
way  to  those  better  able  to  fill  their  places.  Villeroy 
who,  since  his  defeat,  had  quite  lost  his  head,  and  who, 
if  he  had  been  a  general  of  the  Empire  would  have  lost  it 
in  reality  in  another  manner,  received  several  strong  hints 
from  the  King  that  he  ought  to  give  up  his  command. 
But  he  either  could  not  or  would  not  understand  them, 
and  so  tired  out  the  King's  patience,  at  length.  But  he 
was  informed  in  language  which  admitted  of  no  misap- 
prehension that  he  must  return.  Even  then,  the  King 
was  so  kindly  disposed  toward  him,  that  he  said  the 
Mare*chal  had  begged  to  be  recalled  with  such  obstinacy 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  359 

that  he  could  not  refuse  him.  But  M.  de  Villeroy  was 
absurd  enough  to  reject  this  salve  for  his  honor;  which 
led  to  his  disgrace.  M.  de  Vendome  had  orders  to  leave 
Italy,  and  succeed  to  the  command  in  Flanders,  where 
the  enemies  had  very  promptly  taken  Ostend  and  Nieu- 
port. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

Abandonment  of  the  Siege  of  Barcelona  —  Affairs  of  Italy  —  La  Feuil- 
lade —  Disastrous  Rivalries  —  Conduct  of  M.  d'Orleans —  The  Siege 
of  Turin  —  Battle  —  Victory  of  Prince  Eugene — Insubordination  in 
the  Army  —  Retreat  —  M.  d'Orleans  Returns  to  Court  —  Disgrace  of 
La  Feuillade. 

MEANWHILE,  as  I  have  promised  to  relate,  in  a  con- 
tinuous narrative,  all  our  military  operations  of 
this  year,  let  me  say  what  passed  in  other  di- 
rections. The  siege  of  Barcelona  made  no  progress. 
Our  engineers  were  so  slow  and  so  ignorant  that  they 
did  next  to  nothing.  They  were  so  venal,  too,  that  they 
aided  the  enemy  rather  than  us  by  their  movements. 
According  to  a  new  rule  made  by  the  King,  whenever 
they  changed  the  position  of  their  guns,  they  were  en- 
titled to  a  pecuniary  recompense.  Accordingly,  they 
passed  all  their  time  in  uselessly  changing  about  from 
place  to  place,  in  order  to  receive  the  recompense  which 
thus  became  due  to  them. 

Our  fleet,  too,  hearing  that  a  much  superior  naval 
force  was  coming  to  the  assistance  of  the  enemy,  and 
being,  thanks  to  Pontchartrain,  utterly  unable  to  meet 
it,  was  obliged  to  weigh  anchor,  and  sailed  away  to 
Toulon.  The  enemy's  fleet  arrived,  and  the  besieged  at 
once  took  new  courage.  Tesse",  who  had  joined  the  siege, 
saw  at  once  that  it  was  useless  to  continue  it.  We  had 
for  some  time  depended  upon  the  open  sea  for  supplies. 
Now  that  the  English  fleet  had  arrived,  we  could  de- 
pend upon  the  sea  no  longer.  The  King  of  Spain  saw, 
at  last,  that  there  was  no  help  for  it  but  to  raise  the 
siege. 

It  was  raised  accordingly  on  the  night  between  the 
loth  and  nth  of  May,  after  fourteen  days'  bombard- 
ment. We  abandoned  one  hundred  pieces  of  artil- 
lery; one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  pounds  of  powder; 
thirty  thousand  sacks  of  flour:  twenty  thousand  sacks  of 
(360) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON      361 

stvade,  a  kind  of  oats,  and  a  great  number  of  bombs, 
cannon  balls,  and  implements.  As  Catalonia  was  in  re- 
volt, it  was  felt  that  retreat  could  not  take  place  in  that 
direction;  it  was  determined,  therefore,  to  retire  by  the 
way  of  the  French  frontier.  For  eight  days,  however, 
our  troops  were  harassed  in  flank  and  rear  by  Miquelets, 
who  followed  us  from  mountain  to  mountain.  It  was 
not  until  the  Due  de  Noailles,  whose  father  had  done 
some  service  to  the  chiefs  of  these  Miquelets,  had  par- 
leyed with  them  and  made  terms  with  them,  that  our 
troops  were  relieved  from  these  cruel  wasps.  We  suf- 
fered much  loss  in  our  retreat,  which,  with  the  siege, 
cost  us  full  four  thousand  men.  The  army  stopped  at 
Roussillon,  and  the  King  of  Spain,  escorted  by  two  regi- 
ments of  dragoons,  made  the  best  of  his  way  to  Madrid. 
That  city  was  itself  in  danger  from  the  Portuguese,  and, 
indeed,  fell  into  their  hands  soon  after.  The  Queen, 
who,  with  her  children,  had  left  it  in  time  to  avoid  cap- 
ture, felt  matters  to  be  in  such  extremity  that  she  dis- 
patched all  the  jewels  belonging  to  herself  and  her 
husband  to  France.  They  were  placed  in  the  custody 
of  the  King.  Among  them  was  that  famous  pear-shaped 
pearl  called  the  PtrSgrine,  which,  for  its  weight,  its  form, 
its  size,  and  its  water,  is  beyond  all  price  and  all  com- 
parison. 

The  King  of  Spain  effected  a  junction  with  the  army 
of  Berwick,  and  both  set  to  work  to  reconquer  the 
places  the  Portuguese  had  taken  from  them.  In  this 
they  were  successful.  The  Portuguese,  much  harassed 
by  the  people  of  Castille,  were  forced  to  abandon  all 
they  had  gained;  and  the  King  of  Spain  was  enabled 
to  enter  Madrid  toward  the  end  of  September,  where 
he  was  received  with  much  rejoicing. 

In  Italy  we  experienced  the  most  disastrous  misfortunes. 
M.  de  Vendome,  having  been  called  from  the  command 
to  go  into  Flanders,  M.  d'Orle'ans,  after  some  delibera- 
tion, was  appointed  to  take  his  place.  M.  d'Orle'ans  set 
out  from  Paris  on  the  ist  of  July,  with  twenty-eight 
horses  and  five  chaises,  to  arrive  in  three  days  at  Lyons, 
and  then  to  hasten  on  into  Italy.  La  Feuillade  was  be- 
sieging Turin.  M.  d'Orle'ans  went  to  the  siege.  He  was 


362  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

N^ 

magnificently  received  by  La  Feuillade,  and  shown  all 
over  the  works.  He  found  everything  defective.  La 
Feuillade  was  very  young,  and  very  inexperienced.  I 
have  already  related  an  adventure  of  his,  that  of  seizing 
upon  the  coffers  of  his  uncle,  and  so  forestalling  his  in- 
heritance. To  recover  from  the  disgrace  this  occurrence 
brought  upon  him,  he  had  married  a  daughter  of  Cha- 
millart.  Favored  by  the  minister,  but  coldly  looked  upon 
by  the  King,  he  had  succeeded  in  obtaining  command 
in  the  army,  and  had  been  appointed  to  conduct  this 
siege.  Inflated  by  the  importance  of  his  position,  and  by 
the  support  of  Chamillart,  he  would  listen  to  no  advice 
from  any  one.  M.  d'Orle'ans  attempted  to  bring  about 
some  changes,  and  gave  orders  to  that  effect.  But  as 
soon  as  he  was  gone,  La  Feuillade  countermanded  those 
orders  and  had  everything  his  own  way.  The  siege  ac- 
cordingly went  on  with  the  same  ill  success  as  before. 

M.  d'Orle'ans  joined  M.  de  Vendome  on  the  i;th  of 
July,  upon  the  Mincio.  The  pretended  hero  had  just 
made  some  irreparable  faults.  He  had  allowed  Prince 
Eugene  to  pass  the  Po,  nearly  in  front  of  him,  and  nobody 
knew  what  had  become  of  twelve  of  our  battalions  posted 
near  the  place  where  this  passage  had  been  made.  Prince 
Eugene  had  taken  all  the  boats  that  we  had  upon  the 
river.  We  could  not  cross  it,  therefore,  and  follow  the 
enemy  without  making  a  bridge.  Vendome  feared  lest 
his  faults  should  be  perceived.  He  wished  that  his  suc- 
cessor should  remain  charged  with  them.  M.  d'Orle'ans, 
indeed,  soon  saw  all  the  faults  that  M.  de  Vendome  had 
committed,  and  tried  hard  to  induce  the  latter  to  aid 
him  to  repair  them.  But  M.  de  Vendome  would  not 
listen  to  his  representations,  and  started  away  almost 
immediately  to  take  command  of  the  army  in  Flanders, 
leaving  M.  d'Orle'ans  to  get  out  of  the  difficulty  as  he 
might. 

M.  d'Orle'ans,  abandoned  to  himself  (except  when  in- 
terfered with  by  Mare"chal  de  Marsin,  under  whose  tute- 
lage he  was),  could  do  nothing.  He  found  as  much 
opposition  to  his  plans  from  Marsin  as  he  had  found  from 
M.  de  Vendome.  Marsin  wished  to  keep  in  the  good 
graces  of  La  Feuillade,  son-in-law  of  the  all-powerful 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  363 

minister,  and  would  not  adopt  the  views  of  M.  d'Orleans. 
This  latter  had  proposed  to  dispute  the  passage  of  the 
Tanaro,  a  confluent  of  the  Po,  with  the  enemy,  or  com- 
pel them  to  accept  battle.  An  intercepted  letter,  in  cy- 
pher, from  Prince  Eugene  to  the  Emperor,  which  fell 
into  our  hands,  proved,  subsequently,  that  this  course 
would  have  been  the  right  one  to  adopt;  but  the  proof 
came  too  late,  the  deciphering  table  having  been  forgot- 
ten at  Versailles!  M.  d'Orleans  had  in  the  meantime 
been  forced  to  lead  his  army  to  Turin,  to  assist  the  be- 
siegers, instead  of  waiting  to  stop  the  passage  of  the 
troops  that  were  destined  for  the  aid  of  the  besieged. 
He  arrived  at  Turin  on  the  28th  of  August,  in  the  even- 
ing. La  Feuillade,  now  under  two  masters,  grew,  it 
might  be  imagined,  more  docile.  But  no!  He  allied 
himself  with  Marsin  (without  whom  M.  d'Orleans  could 
do  nothing),  and  so  gained  him  over  that  they  acted 
completely  in  accord.  When  M.  d'Orleans  was  convinced, 
soon  after  his  arrival,  that  the  enemy  was  approaching 
to  succor  Turin,  he  suggested  that  they  should  be  op- 
posed as  they  attempted  the  passage  of  the  Dora.  But 
his  advice  was  not  listened  to.  He  was  displeased  with 
everything.  He  found  that  all  the  orders  he  had  given 
had  been  disregarded.  He  found  the  siege  works  bad, 
imperfect,  very  wet,  and  very  ill  guarded.  He  tried  to 
remedy  all  these  defects,  but  he  was  opposed  at  every 
step.  A  council  of  war  was  held.  M.  d'Orleans  stated 
his  views,  but  all  the  officers  present,  with  one  honora- 
ble exception,  servilely  chimed  in  with  the  views  of 
Marsin  and  La  Feuillade,  and  things  remained  as  they 
were.  M.  d'Orleans,  thereupon,  protested  that  he  washed 
his  hands  of  all  the  misfortunes  that  might  happen  in 
consequence  of  his  advice  being  neglected.  He  declared 
that  as  he  was  no  longer  master  over  anything,  it  was 
not  just  that  he  should  bear  any  part  of  the  blame  which 
would  entail  to  those  in  command.  He  asked,  therefore, 
for  his  post-chaise,  and  wished  immediately  to  quit  the 
army.  La  Feuillade  and  Marsin,  however,  begged  him 
to  remain,  and  upon  second  thoughts  he  thought  it  bet- 
ter to  do  so.  The  simple  reason  of  all  this  opposition 
was,  that  La  Feuillade,  being  very  young,  and  very  vain, 


364  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

wished  to  have  all  the  honors  of  the  siege.  He  was 
afraid  that  if  the  counsel  of  M.  d'Orle'ans  prevailed,  some 
of  that  honor  would  be  taken  from  him.  This  was  the 
real  reason,  and  to  this  France  owes  the  disastrous  fail- 
ure of  the  siege  of  Turin. 

After  the  council  of  war,  M.  d 'Orleans  ceased  to  take 
any  share  in  the  command,  walked  about  or  stopped  at 
home,  like  a  man  who  had  nothing  to  do  with  what  was 
passing  around  him.  On  the  night  of  the  6th  to  the  7th 
of  September,  he  rose  from  his  bed  alarmed  by  informa- 
tion sent  to  him  in  a  letter,  that  Prince  Eugene  was 
about  to  attack  the  castle  of  Pianezza,  in  order  to  cross 
the  Dora,  and  so  proceed  to  attack  the  besiegers.  He 
hastened  at  once  to  Marsin,  showed  him  the  letter,  and 
recommended  that  troops  should  at  once  be  sent  to  dispute 
the  passage  of  a  brook  that  the  enemies  had  yet  to  cross, 
even  supposing  them  to  be  masters  of  Pianezza.  Even 
as  he  was  speaking,  confirmation  of  the  intelligence  he 
had  received  was  brought  by  one  of  our  officers.  But  it 
was  resolved  in  the  Eternal  decrees  that  France  should 
be  struck  to  the  heart  that  day. 

Marsin  would  listen  to  none  of  the  arguments  of  M. 
d'Orle'ans.  He  maintained  that  it  would  be  unsafe  to  leave 
the  lines;  that  the  news  was  false;  that  Prince  Eugene 
could  not  possibly  arrive  so  promptly;  he  would  give  no 
orders ;  and  he  counseled  M.  d'Orle'ans  to  go  back  to  bed. 
The  Prince,  more  piqued  and  more  disgusted  than  ever, 
retired  to  his  quarters  fully  resolved  to  abandon  every- 
thing to  the  blind  and  deaf,  who  would  neither  see  nor 
hear. 

Soon  after  entering  his  chamber  the  news  spread  from 
all  parts  of  the  arrival  of  Prince  Eugene.  He  did  not  stir. 
Some  general  officers  came,  and  forced  him  to  mount  his 
horse.  He  went  forth  negligently  at  a  walking  pace. 
What  had  taken  place  during  the  previous  days  had  made 
so  much  noise  that  even  the  common  soldiers  were 
ashamed  of  it.  They  liked  him,  and  murmured  because 
he  would  no  longer  command  them.  One  of  them  called 
him  by  his  name,  and  asked  him  if  he  refused  them  his 
sword.  This  question  did  more  than  all  that  the  general 
officers  had  been  able  to  do.  M.  d'Orle'ans  replied  to  the 


DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON  365 

soldier,  that  he  would  not  refuse  to  serve  them,  and  at 
once  resolved  to  lend  all  his  aid  to  Marsin  and  La 
Feuillade. 

But  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  leave  the  lines.  The 
enemy  was  in  sight,  and  advanced  so  diligently,  that 
there  was  no  time  to  make  arrangements.  Marsin  more 
dead  than  alive,  was  incapable  of  giving  any  order  or  any 
advice.  But  La  Feuillade  still  persevered  in  his  obstinacy. 
He  disputed  the  orders  of  the  Due  d'Orleans,  and  pre- 
vented their  execution,  possessed  by  I  know  not  what 
demon. 

The  attack  commenced  about  ten  o'clock  in  the  morn- 
ing, was  pushed  with  incredible  vigor,  and  sustained,  at 
first,  in  the  same  manner.  Prince  Eugene  poured  his 
troops  into  those  places  which  the  smallness  of  our  forces 
had  compelled  us  to  leave  open.  Marsin,  toward  the 
middle  of  the  battle,  received  a  wound,  which  incapaci- 
tated him  from  further  service,  and  was  taken  prisoner 
immediately  after.  La  Feuillade  ran  about  like  a  mad- 
man, tearing  his  hair,  and  incapable  of  giving  any  order. 
The  Due  d'Orldans  preserved  his  coolness,  and  did  won- 
ders to  save  the  day.  Finding  our  men  beginning  to 
waver,  he  called  the  officers  by  their  names,  aroused  the 
soldiers  by  his  voice,  and  himself  led  the  squadrons  and 
battalions  to  the  charge.  Vanquished  at  last  by  pain, 
and  weakened  by  the  blood  he  had  lost,  he  was  constrained 
to  retire  a  little,  to  have  his  wounds  dressed.  He 
scarcely  gave  himself  time  for  this,  however,  but  re- 
turned at  once  where  the  fire  was  hottest.  Three  times 
the  enemy  had  been  repulsed,  and  their  guns  spiked  by 
one  of  our  officers,  Le  Guerchois,  with  his  brigade  of  the 
old  marine,  when  enfeebled  by  the  losses  he  had  sustained, 
he  called  upon  a  neighboring  brigade  to  advance  with 
him  to  oppose  a  number  of  fresh  battalions  the  enemy 
had  sent  against  him.  This  brigade  and  its  brigadier  re- 
fused bluntly  to  aid  him.  It  was  positively  known  after- 
ward, that  had  Le  Guerchois  sustained  this  fourth  charge, 
Prince  Eugene  would  have  retreated. 

This  was  the  last  moment  of  the  little  order  that  there 
had  been  at  this  battle.  All  that  followed  was  only 
trouble,  confusion,  disorder,  flight,  discomfiture.  The 


366  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

most  terrible  thing  is,  that  the  general  officers,  with  but 
few  exceptions,  more  intent  upon  their  equipage  and 
upon  what  they  had  saved  by  pillage,  added  to  the  con- 
fusion instead  of  diminishing  it,  and  were  worse  than 
useless. 

M.  d'Orleans,  convinced  at  last  that  it  was  impossible 
to  re-establish  the  day,  thought  only  how  to  retire  as  ad- 
vantageously as  possible.  He  withdrew  his  light  artil- 
lery, his  ammunition,  everything  that  was  at  the  siege, 
even  at  the  most  advanced  of  its  works,  and  attended  to 
everything  with  a  presence  of  mind  that  allowed  nothing 
to  escape  him.  Then,  gathering  round  him  all  the  offi- 
cers he  could  collect,  he  explained  to  them  that  nothing 
but  retreat  was  open  to  them,  and  that  the  road  to  Italy 
was  that  which  they  ought  to  pursue.  By  this  means 
they  would  leave  the  victorious  army  of  the  enemy  in  a 
country  entirely  ruined  and  desolate,  and  hinder  it  from 
returning  into  Italy,  where  the  army  of  the  King,  on  the 
contrary,  would  have  abundance,  and  where  it  would  cut 
off  all  succor  from  the  others. 

This  proposition  dismayed  to  the  last  degree  our  offi- 
cers, who  hoped  at  least  to  reap  the  fruit  of  this  disas- 
ter by  returning  to  France  with  the  money  with  which 
they  were  gorged.  La  Feuillade  opposed  it  with  so  much 
impatience,  that  the  Prince,  exasperated  by  an  effrontery 
so  sustained,  told  him  to  hold  his  peace  and  let  others 
speak.  Others  did  speak,  but  only  one  was  for  follow- 
ing the  counsel  of  M.  d'Orle*ans.  Feeling  himself  now, 
however,  the  master,  he  stopped  all  further  discussion, 
and  gave  orders  that  the  retreat  to  Italy  should  com- 
mence. This  was  all  he  could  do.  His  body  and  his 
brain  were  equally  exhausted.  After  having  waited  some 
little  time,  he  was  compelled  to  throw  himself  into  a 
post-chaise,  and  in  that  to  continue  the  journey. 

The  officers  obeyed  his  orders  most  unwillingly.  They 
murmured  among  each  other  so  loudly  that  the  Due 
d'Orleans,  justly  irritated  by  so  much  opposition  to  his 
will,  made  them  hold  their  peace.  The  retreat  continued. 
But  it  was  decreed  that  the  spirit  of  error  and  vertigo 
should  ruin  us  and  save  the  allies.  As  the  army  were 
about  to  cross  the  bridge  over  the  Ticino,  and  march  into 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  367 

Italy,  information  was  brought  to  M.  d'Orle'ans,  that  the 
enemy  occupied  the  roads  by  which  it  was  indispensable 
to  pass.  M.  d'Orle'ans,  not  believing  this  intelligence, 
persisted  in  going  forward.  Our  officers,  thus  foiled,  for 
it  was  known  afterward  that  the  story  was  their  inven- 
tion, and  that  the  passes  were  entirely  free,  hit  upon 
another  expedient.  They  declared  there  was  no  more 
provisions  or  ammunition,  and  it  was  accordingly  impossible 
to  go  into  Italy.  M.  d'Orle'ans,  worn  out  by  so  much 
criminal  disobedience,  and  weakened  by  his  wound,  could 
hold  out  no  longer.  He  threw  himself  back  in  the  chaise, 
and  said  they  might  go  where  they  would.  The  army 
therefore  turned  about,  and  directed  itself  toward  Pig- 
nerol,  losing  many  equipages  from  our  rear  guard  during 
the  night  in  the  mountains,  although  that  rear  guard 
was  protected  by  Albergotti,  and  was  not  annoyed  by 
the  enemy. 

The  joy  of  the  enemy  at  their  success  was  unbounded. 
They  could  scarcely  believe  in  it.  Their  army  was  just 
at  its  last  gasp.  They  had  not  more  than  four  days' 
supply  of  powder  left  in  the  place.  After  the  victory, 
M.de  Savoie  and  Prince  Eugene  lost  no  time  in  idle  rejoic- 
ings. They  thought  only  how  to  profit  by  a  success  so 
unheard  of  and  so  unexpected.  They  retook  rapidly  all 
the  places  in  Piedmont  and  Lombardy  that  we  occupied, 
and  we  had  no  power  to  prevent  them. 

Never  battle  cost  fewer  soldiers  than  that  of  Turin; 
never  was  retreat  more  undisturbed  than  ours ;  yet  never 
were  results  more  frightful  or  more  rapid.  Ramillies, 
with  a  light  loss,  cost  the  Spanish  Low  Countries  and 
.  part  of  ours ;  Turin  cost  all  Italy  by  the  ambition  of  La 
Feuillade,  the  incapacity  of  Marsin,  the  avarice,  the 
trickery,  the  disobedience  of  the  general  officers  opposed  to 
M.  d'Orle'ans.  So  complete  was  the  rout  of  our  army,  that  it 
was  found  impossible  to  restore  it  sufficiently  to  send  it 
back  to  Italy,  not  at  least  before  the  following  spring. 
M.  d'Orle'ans  returned  therefore  to  Versailles,  on  Monday, 
the  8th  of  November,  and  was  well  received  by  the  King. 
La  Feuillade  arrived  on  Monday  the  i3th  of  December, 
having  remained  several  days  at  Paris  without  daring  to 
go  to  Versailles.  He  was  taken  to  the  King  by  Chamil- 


368  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

lart.  As  soon  as  the  King  saw  them  enter  he  rose,  went 
to  the  door,  and  without  giving  them  time  to  utter  a 
word,  said  to  La  Feuillade,  <(  Monsieur,  we  are  both  very 
unfortunate ! w  and  instantly  'turned  his  back  upon  him. 
La  Feuillade,  on  the  threshold  of  the  door  that  he  had 
not  had  time  to  cross,  left  the  place  immediately,  without 
having  dared  to  say  a  single  word.  The  King  always 
afterward  turned  his  eyes  from  La  Feuillade,  and  would 
never  speak  to  him.  Such  was  the  fall  of  this  Phaeton. 
He  saw  that  he  had  no  more  hope,  and  retired  from  the 
army;  although  there  was  no  baseness  that  he  did  not 
afterward  employ  to  return  to  command.  I  think  there 
never  was  a  more  wrongheaded  man  or  a  man  more  radi- 
cally dishonest,  even  to  the  marrow  of  his  bones.  As  for 
Marsin,  he  died  soon  after  his  capture,  from  the  effect  of 
his  wounds.* 

*  It  may  be  as  well  to  remind  the  reader  that  the  Due  d'Orleans  who 
figures  in  this  chapter  is  the  same  known  as  the  Due  de  Chartres  in  the 
former  part  of  this  volume  —  afterward  Regent  of  France. 


CHAPTER    XXXVI. 

Measures  of  Economy  —  Financial  Embarrassments — The  King  and 
Chamillart  —  Tax  on  Baptisms  and  Marriages  —  Vauban's  Patriot- 
ism —  Its  Punishment  —  My  Action  with  M.  de  Brissac  —  I  Appeal 
to  the  King  —  The  Result  —  I  Gain  my  Action. 

SUCH  was  our  military  history  of  the  year  1706 — a  his- 
tory of  losses  and  dishonor.  It  may  be  imagined  in 

what  condition  was  the  exchequer  with  so  many  de- 
mands upon  its  treasures.  For  the  last  two  or  three 
years  the  King  had  been  obliged,  on  account  of  the  ex- 
penses of  the  war,  and  the  losses  we  had  sustained,  to 
cut  down  the  presents  that  he  made  at  the  commence- 
ment of  the  year.  Thirty-five  thousand  louis  in  gold  was 
the  sum  he  ordinarily  spent  in  this  manner.  This  year, 
1707,  he  diminished  it  by  ten  thousand  louis.  It  was  upon 
Madame  de  Montespan  that  the  blow  fell.  Since  she  had 
quitted  the  Court  the  King  gave  her  twelve  thousand 
louis  of  gold  each  year.  This  year  he  sent  word  to  her 
that  he  could  only  give  her  eight.  Madame  de  Montespan 
testified  not  the  least  surprise.  She  replied  that  she  was 
only  sorry  for  the  poor,  to  whom  indeed  she  gave  with 
profusion.  A  short  time  after  the  King  had  made  this 
reduction, —  that  is,  on  the  8th  of  January, —  Madame  la 
Duchess  de  Bourgogne  gave  birth  to  a  son.  The  joy 
was  great,  but  the  King  prohibited  all  those  expenses 
which  had  been  made  at  the  birth  of  the  firstborn  of 
Madame  de  Bourgogne,  and  which  had  amounted  to  a 
large  sum.  The  want  of  money  indeed  made  itself  felt 
so  much  at  this  time  that  the  King  was  obliged  to  seek 
for  resources  as  a  private  person  might  have  done.  A 
mining  speculator,  named  Rodes,  having  pretended  that 
he  had  discovered  many  veins  of  gold  in  the  Pyrenees, 
assistance  was  given  him  in  order  that  he  might  bring 
these  treasures  to  light.  He  declared  that  with  eighteen 
hundred  workmen  he  would  furnish  a  million  (francs' 
worth  of  gold)  each  week.  Fifty-two  millions  a  year 

24  (369) 


370  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

would  have  been  a  fine  increase  of  revenue.  However, 
after  waiting  some  little  time,  no  gold  was  forthcoming, 
and  the  money  that  had  been  spent  to  assist  this  enter- 
prise was  found  to  be  pure  loss. 

The  difficulty  of  finding  money  to  carry  on  the  affairs 
of  the  nation  continued  to  grow  so  irksome  that  Cha- 
millart,  who  had  both  the  finance  and  the  war  departments 
under  his  control,  was  unable  to  stand  against  the  in- 
creased trouble  and  vexation  which  this  state  of  things 
brought  him.  More  than  once  he  had  represented  that 
this  double  work  was  too  much  for  him.  But  the  King 
had  in  former  times  expressed  so  much  annoyance  from 
the  troubles  that  arose  between  the  finance  and  war  de- 
partments, that  he  would  not  separate  them,  after  having 
once  joined  them  together.  At  last,  Chamillart  could 
bear  up  against  his  heavy  load  no  longer.  The  vapors 
seized  him:  he  had  attacks  of  giddiness  in  the  head;  his 
digestion  was  obstructed;  he  grew  thin  as  a  lath.  He 
wrote  again  to  the  King,  begging  to  be  released  from 
his  duties,  and  frankly  stated  that,  in  the  state  he  was, 
if  some  relief  was  not  afforded  him,  everything  would  go 
wrong  and  perish.  He  always  left  a  large  margin  to 
his  letters,  and  upon  this  the  Kiitg  generally  wrote  his 
reply.  Chamillart  showed  me  this  letter  when  it  came 
back  to  him,  and  I  saw  upon  it  with  great  surprise,  in 
the  handwriting  of  the  King,  this  short  note:  <(Well!  let 
us  perish  together. w 

The  necessity  for  money  had  now  become  so  great, 
that  all  sorts  of  means  were  adopted  to  obtain  it.  Among 
other  things,  a  tax  was  established  upon  baptisms  and 
marriages.  This  tax  was  extremely  onerous  and  odious. 
The  result  of  it  was  a  strange  confusion.  Poor  people, 
and  many  of  humble  means,  baptized  their  children  them- 
selves, without  carrying  them  to  the  church,  and  were 
married  at  home  by  reciprocal  consent  and  before  wit- 
nesses, when  they  could  find  no  priest  who  would  marry 
them  without  formality.  In  consequence  of  this  there 
were  no  longer  any  baptismal  extracts;  no  longer  any 
certainty  as  to  baptisms  or  births;  and  the  children  of 
the  marriages  solemnized  in  the  way  I  have  stated  above 
were  illegitimate  in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  Researches  and 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  371 

rigors  in  respect  to  abuses  so  prejudicial  were  redoubled 
therefore,  that  is  to  say,  they  were  redoubled  for  the 
purpose  of  collecting  the  tax. 

From  public  cries  and  murmurs  the  people  in  some 
places  passed  to  sedition.  Matters  went  so  far  at  Cahors, 
that  two  battalions  which  were  there  had  great  difficulty 
in  holding  the  town  against  the  armed  peasants;  and 
troops  intended  for  Spain  were  obliged  to  be  sent  there. 
It  was  found  necessary  to  suspend  the  operation  of  the 
tax,  but  it  was  with  great  trouble  that  the  movement  of 
Quercy  was  put  down,  and  the  peasants,  who  had  armed 
and  collected  together,  induced  to  retire  into  their  vil- 
lages. In  Perigord  they  rose,  pillaged  the  bureaux,  and 
rendered  themselves  masters  of  a  little  town  and  some 
castles,  and  forced  some  gentlemen  to  put  themselves  at 
their  head.  They  declared  publicly  that  they  would  pay 
the  old  taxes  to  King,  curate,  and  lord,  but  that  they  would 
pay  no  more,  or  hear  a  word  of  any  other  taxes  or  vexa- 
tion. In  the  end  it  was  found  necessary  to  drop  this  tax 
upon  baptism  and  marriages,  to  the  great  regret  of  the 
tax  gatherers,  who,  by  all  manner  of  vexations  and 
rogueries,  had  enriched  themselves  cruelly. 

It  was  at  this  time,  and  in  consequence,  to  some  extent, 
of  these  events,  that  a  man  who  had  acquired  the  highest 
distinction  in  France  was  brought  to  the  tomb  in  bitter- 
ness and  grief,  for  that  which  in  any  other  country  would 
have  covered  him  with  honor.  Vauban,  for  it  is  to  him 
that  I  allude,  patriot  as  he  was,  had  all  his  life  been 
touched  with  the  misery  of  the  people  and  the  vexations 
they  suffered.  The  knowledge  that  his  offices  gave  him 
of  the  necessity  for  expense,  the  little  hope  he  had  that 
the  King  would  retrench  in  matters  of  splendor  and 
amusement,  made  him  groan  to  see  no  remedy  to  an  op- 
pression which  increased  in  weight  from  day  to  day. 
Feeling  this,  he  made  no  journey  that  he  did  not  collect 
information  upon  the  value  and  produce  of  the  land, 
upon  the  trade  and  industry  of  the  towns  and  provinces, 
on  the  nature  of  the  imposts,  and  the  manner  of  collect- 
ing them.  Not  content  with  this,  he  secretly  sent  to  such 
places  as  he  could  not  visit  himself,  or  even  to  those  he 
had  visited,  to  instruct  him  in  everything,  and  compare 


372  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

the  reports  he  received  with  those  he  had  himself  made. 
The  last  twenty  years  of  his  life  were  spent  in  these 
researches,  and  at  considerable  cost  to  himself.  In  the 
end,  he  convinced  himself  that  the  land  was  the  only 
real  wealth,  and  he  set  himself  to  work  to  form  a  new 
system. 

He  had  already  made  much  progress,  when  several 
little  books  appeared  by  Boisguilbert,  lieutenant  general 
at  Rouen,  who  long  since  had  had  the  same  views  as 
Vauban,  and  had  wanted  to  make  them  known.  From 
this  labor  had  resulted  a  learned  and  profound  book,  in 
which  a  system  was  explained  by  which  the  people  could 
be  relieved  of  all  the  expenses  they  supported,  and  from 
every  tax,  and  by  which  the  revenue  collected  would  go 
at  once  into  the  treasury  of  the  King,  instead  of  enrich- 
ing, first  the  traitants,  the  intendants,  and  the  finance 
ministers.  These  latter,  therefore,  were  opposed  to  the 
system,  and  their  opposition,  as  will  be  seen,  was  of  no 
slight  consequence. 

Vauban  read  this  book  with  much  attention.  He  dif- 
fered on  some  points  with  the  author,  but  agreed  with 
him  in  the  main.  Boisguilbert  wished  to  preserve  some 
imposts  upon  foreign  commerce  and  upon  provisions. 
Vauban  wished  to  abolish  all  imposts,  and  to  substi- 
tute for  them  two  taxes,  one  upon  the  land,  the  other 
upon  trade  and  industry.  His  book,  in  which  he  put 
forth  these  ideas,  was  full  of  information  and  figures,  all 
arranged  with  the  utmost  clearness,  simplicity,  and  exact- 
itude. 

But  it  had  a  grand  fault.  It  described  a  course 
which,  if  followed,  would  have  ruined  an  army  of  finan- 
ciers, of  clerks,  of  functionaries  of  all  kinds;  it  would 
have  forced  them  to  live  at  their  own  expense,  instead 
of  at  the  expense  of  the  people ;  and  it  would  have  sapped 
the  foundations  of  those  immense  fortunes  that  are  seen 
to  grow  up  in  such  a  short  time.  This  was  enough  to 
cause  its  failure. 

All  the  people,  interested  in  opposing  the  work  set  up 
a  cry.  They  saw  place,  power,  everything,  about  to  fly 
from  their  grasp,  if  the  counsels  of  Vauban  were  acted 
upon.  What  wonder,  then,  that  the  King,  who  was  sur- 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  373 

rounded  by  these  people,  listened  to  their  reasons,  and 
received  with  a  very  ill  grace  Mare"chal  Vauban  when  he 
presented  his  book  to  him.  The  ministers,  it  may  well 
be  believed,  did  not  give  him  a  better  welcome.  From 
that  moment  his  services,  his  military  capacity  (unique 
of  its  kind),  his  virtues,  the  affection  the  King  had  had 
for  him,  all  was  forgotten.  The  King  saw  only  in  Mare"- 
chal  Vauban  a  man  led  astray  by  love  for  the  people,  a 
criminal  who  attacked  the  authority  of  the  ministers,  and 
consequently  that  of  the  King.  He  explained  himself  to 
this  effect  without  scruple. 

The  unhappy  Mare"chal  could  not  survive  the  loss  of 
his  royal  master's  favor,  or  stand  up  against  the  enmity 
the  King's  explanations  had  created  against  him ;  he  died 
a  few  months  after  consumed  with  grief,  and  with  an. 
affliction  nothing  could  soften,  and  to  which  the  King  was- 
insensible  to  such  a  point,  that  he  made  semblance  of  not. 
perceiving  that  he  had  lost  a  servitor  so  useful  and  so- 
illustrious.  Vauban,  justly  celebrated  over  all  Europe,, 
was  regretted  in  France  by  all  who  were  not  financiers 
or  their  supporters. 

Boisguilbert,  whom  this  event  ought  to  have  rendered 
wise,  could  not  contain  himself.  One  of  the  objections 
which  had  been  urged  against  his  theories,  was  the  diffi- 
culty of  carrying  out  changes  in  the  midst  of  a  great 
war.  He  now  published  a  book  refuting  this  point,  and 
describing  such  a  number  of  abuses  then  existing,  to« 
abolish  which,  he  asked,  was  it  necessary  to  wait  for 
peace,  that  the  ministers  were  outraged.  Boisguilbert 
was  exiled  to  Auvergne.  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  re- 
voke this  sentence,  having  known  Boisguilbert  at  Rouen, 
but  did  not  succeed  until  the  end  of  two  months.  He 
was  then  allowed  to  return  to  Rouen,  but  was  severely 
reprimanded,  and  stripped  of  his  functions  for  some  lit- 
tle time.  He  was  amply  indemnified,  however,  for  this 
by  the  crowd  of  people,  and  the  acclamations  with  which 
he  was  received. 

It  is  due  to  Chamillart  to  say,  that  he  was  the  only 
minister  who  had  listened  with  any  attention  to  these 
new  systems  of  Vauban  and  Boisguilbert.  He  indeed 
made  trial  of  the  plans  suggested  by  the  former,  but  the 


374  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

circumstances  were  not  favorable  to  his  success,  and 
they  of  course  failed.  Some  time  after,  instead  of  fol- 
lowing the  system  of  Vauban,  and  reducing  the  imposts, 
fresh  ones  were  added.  Who  would  have  said  to  the 
Mare*chal  that  all  his  labors  for  the  relief  of  the  people 
of  France  would  lead  to  new  imposts,  more  harsh,  more 
permanent,  and  more  heavy  than  he  protested  against  ? 
It  is  a  terrible  lesson  against  all  improvements  in  mat- 
ters of  taxation  and  finance. 

But  it  is  time,  now,  that  I  should  retrace  my  steps  to 
other  matters,  which,  if  related  in  due  order  of  time, 
should  have  found  a  place  ere  this.  And  first,  let  me 
relate  the  particulars  concerning  a  trial  in  which  I  was 
•engaged,  and  which  I  have  deferred  allusion  to  until 
now,  so  as  not  to  entangle  the  thread  of  my  narrative. 

My  sister,  as  I  have  said  in  its  proper  place,  had  mar- 
ried the  Due  de  Brissac,  and  the  marriage  had  not  been 
a  happy  one.  After  a  time,  in  fact,  they  separated. 
My  sister,  at  her  death,  left  me  her  universal  legatee  ; 
and  shortly  after  this,  M.  de  Brissac  brought  an  action 
against  me  on  her  account  for  five  hundred  thousand 
francs.  After  his  death,  his  representatives  continued 
the  action,  which  I  resisted,  not  only  maintaining  that  I 
owed  none  of  the  five  hundred  thousand  francs,  but 
claiming  to  have  two  hundred  thousand  owing  to  me, 
out  of  six  hundred  thousand  which  had  formed  the 
dowry  of  my  sister. 

When  M.  de  Brissac  died,  there  seemed  some  proba- 
bility that  his  peerage  would  become  extinct ;  for  the 
Comte  de  Cosse*,  who  claimed  to  succeed  him,  was  op- 
posed by  a  number  of  peers,  and  but  for  me  might  have 
failed  to  establish  his  pretensions.  I,  however,  as  his 
claim  was  just,  interested  myself  in  him,  supported  him 
with  all  my  influence,  and  gained  for  him  the  support 
of  several  influential  peers  ;  so  that  in  the  end  he  was 
recognized  as  Due  de  Brissac,  and  received  as  such  at 
the  Parliament  on  the  6th  of  May,  1700. 

Having  succeeded  thus  to  the  titles  and  estates  of  his 
predecessor,  he  succeeded  also  to  his  liabilities,  debts,  and 
engagements.  Among  these  was  the  trial  against  me  for 
five  hundred  thousand  francs.  Cosse*  felt  so  thoroughly 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  375' 

that  he  owed  his  rank  to  me,  that  he  offered  to  give  me 
five  hundred  thousand  francs,  so  as  to  indemnify  me 
against  an  adverse  decision  in  the  cause.  Now,  as  I  have 
said,  I  not  only  resisted  this  demand  made  upon  me  for 
five  hundred  thousand  francs,  but  I,  in  my  turn,  claimed 
two  hundred  thousand  francs,  and  my  claim,  once  ad- 
mitted, all  the  personal  creditors  of  the  late  Due  de 
Brissac  ( creditors  who,  of  course,  had  to  be  paid  by  the 
new  Duke),  would  have  been  forced  to  stand  aside  until 
my  debt  was  settled. 

I  therefore  refused  this  offer  of  Cosse"  lest  other  cred- 
itors should  hear  of  the  arrangement,  and  force  him  to 
make  a  similar  one  with  them.  He  was  overwhelmed 
with  a  generosity  so  little  expected,  and  we  became  more 
intimately  connected  from  that  day. 

Cosse",  once  received  as  Due  de  Brissac,  I  no  longer 
feared  to  push  forward  the  action  I  had  commenced  for 
the  recovery  of  the  two  hundred  thousand  francs  due  to 
me,  and  which  I  had  interrupted  only  on  his  account. 
I  had  gained  it  twice  running  against  the  late  Due  de 
Brissac,  at  the  Parliament  of  Rouen;  but  the  Duchess 
d'Aumont,  who  in  the  last  years  of  life  had  lent  him 
money,  and  whose  debt  was  in  danger,  succeeded  in 
getting  this  cause  sent  up  for  appeal  to  the  Parliament 
at  Paris,  where  she  threw  obstacle  upon  obstacle  in  its 
path,  and  caused  judgment  to  be  delayed  month  after 
month.  When  I  came  to  take  active  steps  in  the  matter, 
my  surprise — to  use  no  stronger  word  —  was  great,  to  find 
Cosse",  after  all  I  had  done  for  him,  favoring  the  pre- 
tensions of  the  Duchess  d'Aumont,  and  lending  her  his 
aid  to  establish  them.  However,  he  and  the  Duchess 
d'Aumont  lost  their  cause,  for  when  it  was  submitted  to 
the  judges  of  the  Council  at  Paris,  it  was  sent  back  to 
Rouen,  and  they  had  to  pay  damages  and  expenses. 

For  years  the  affair  had  been  ready  to  be  judged  at 
Rouen,  but  M.  d'Aumont  every  year,  by  means  of  his 
letters  of  state,  obtained  a  postponement.  At  last,  how- 
ever, M  d'Aumont  died,  and  I  was  assured  that  the  let- 
ters of  state  should  not  be  again  produced,  and  that  in 
consequence  no  further  adjournment  should  take  place. 
I  and  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  at  once  set  out,  therefore, 


376  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

for  Rouen,  where  we  were  exceedingly  well  received, 
fltes  and  entertainments  being  continually  given  in  our 
honor. 

After  we  had  been  there  but  eight  or  ten  days,  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  Pontchartrain,  who  sent  me  word 
that  the  King  had  learned  with  surprise  that  I  was  at 
Rouen,  and  had  charged  him  to  ask  me  why  I  was  there: 
so  attentive  was  the  King  as  to  what  became  of  the  people 
of  mark,  he  was  accustomed  to  see  around  him !  My  re- 
ply was  not  difficult. 

Meanwhile  our  cause  proceeded.  The  Parliament,  that 
is  to  say,  the  Grand  Chamber,  suspended  all  other  busi- 
ness in  order  to  finish  ours.  The  affair  was  already  far 
advanced,  when  it  was  interrupted  by  an  obstacle,  of 
all  obstacles,  the  least  possible  to  foresee.  The  letters 
of  state  had  again  been  put  in,  for  the  purpose  of  ob- 
taining another  adjournment. 

My  design  is  not  to  weary  by  recitals,  which  interest 
only  myself,  but  I  must  explain  this  matter  fully.  It 
was  Monday  evening.  The  Parliament  of  Rouen  ended 
on  the  following  Saturday.  If  we  waited  until  the  open- 
ing of  the  next  Parliament,  we  should  have  to  begin  our 
cause  from  the  beginning,  and  with  new  presidents  and 
judges,  who  would  know  nothing  of  the  facts.  What  was 
to  be  done  ?  To  appeal  to  the  King  seemed  impossible, 
for  he  was  at  Marly,  and,  while  there,  never  listened  to 
such  matters.  By  the  time  he  left  Marly,  it  would  be 
too  late  to  apply  to  him. 

Madame  de  Saint-Simon  and  others  advised  me,  how- 
ever, at  all  hazards,  to  go  straight  to  the  King,  instead 
of  sending  a  courier,  as  I  thought  of  doing,  and  to  keep 
my  journey  secret.  I  followed  their  advice,  and  setting 
out  at  once,  arrived  at  Marly  on  Tuesday  morning,  the 
8th  of  August,  at  eight  of  the  clock.  The  Chancellor 
and  Chamillart,  to  whom  I  told  my  errand,  pitied  me, 
but  gave  me  no  hope  of  success.  Nevertheless,  a  Council 
of  State  was  to  be  held  on  the  following  morning,  pre- 
sided over  by  the  King. and  my  petition  was  laid  before 
it.  The  letters  of  state  were  thrown  out  by  every  voice. 
This  information  was  brought  to  me  at  midday.  I  par- 
took of  a  hasty  dinner,  and  turned  back  to  Rouen,  where 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  377 

I  arrived  on  Thursday,  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
three  hours  after  a  courier,  by  whom  I  had  sent  this 
unhoped-for  news. 

I  brought  with  me,  besides  the  order  respecting  the  let- 
ters of  state,  an  order  to  the  Parliament  to  proceed  to  judg- 
ment at  once.  It  was  laid  before  the  judges  very  early  on 
Saturday,  the  nth  of  August,  the  last  day  of  the  Parlia- 
ment. From  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  we  had  an 
infinite  number  of  visitors,  wanting  to  accompany  us  to 
the  palace.  The  Parliament  had  been  much  irritated 
against  these  letters  of  state,  after  having  suspended  all 
other  business  for  us.  The  withdrawal  of  these  letters 
was  now  announced.  We  gained  our  cause,  with  penal- 
ties and  expenses,  amid  acclamations  which  resounded 
through  the  court,  and  which  followed  us  into  the  streets. 
We  could  scarcely  enter  our  street,  so  full  was  it  with 
the  crowd,  or  our  house,  which  was  equally  crowded.  Our 
kitchen  chimney  soon  after  took  fire,  and  it  was  only  a 
marvel  that  it  was  extinguished,  without  damage,  after 
having  strongly  warned  us,  and  turned  our  joy  into  bit- 
terness. There  was  only  the  master  of  the  house  who 
was  unmoved.  We  dined,  however,  with  a  grand  com- 
pany; and  after  stopping  one  or  two  days  more  to  thank 
our  friends,  we  went  to  see  the  sea  at  Dieppe,  and  then 
to  Cani,  to  a  beautiful  house  belonging  to  our  host  at 
Rouen. 

As  for  Madame  d'Aumont,  she  was  furious  at  the  ill 
success  of  her  affair.  It  was  she  who  had  obtained  the 
letters  of  state  from  the  steward  of  her  son-in-law.  Her 
son-in-law  had  promised  me  that  they  should  not  be  used, 
and  wrote  at  once  to  say  he  had  had  no  hand  in  their 
production.  M.  de  Brissac,  who  had  been  afraid  to  look 
me  in  the  face  ever  since  he  had  taken  part  in  this  mat- 
ter, and  with  whom  I  had  openly  broken,  was  now  so 
much  ashamed  that  he  avoided  me  everywhere. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

My  Appointment  as  Ambassador  to  Rome — How  It  Fell  Through  — 
Anecdotes  of  the  Bishop  of  Orleans  —  A  Droll  Song — A  Saint  in 
Spite  of  Himself  —  Fashionable  Crimes  —  A  Forged  Genealogy  — 
Abduction  of  Beringhen — The  Parvulos  of  Meudon  and  Mademoi- 
selle Choin. 

IT  WAS  just  at  the  commencement  of  the  year  1706,  that 
I  received  a  piece  of  news  which  almost  took  away 
my  breath  by  its  suddenness,  and  by  the  surprise  it 
caused  me.  I  was  on  very  intimate  terms  with  Gualterio, 
the  nuncio  of  the  Pope.  Just  about  this  time  we  were 
without  an  ambassador  at  Rome.  The  nuncio  spoke  to 
me  about  this  post;  but  at  my  age  —  I  was  but  thirty  — 
and  knowing  the  unwillingness  of  the  King  to  employ 
young  men  in  public  affairs,  I  paid  no  attention  to  his 
words.  Eight  days  afterward  he  entered  my  chamber  — 
one  Tuesday,  about  an  hour  after  midday  —  his  arms 
open,  joy  painted  upon  his  face,  and  embracing  me,  told 
me  to  shut  my  door,  and  even  that  of  my  antechamber, 
so  that  he  should  not  be  seen.  I  was  to  go  to  Rome  as 
ambassador.  I  made  him  repeat  this  twice  over:  it 
seemed  so  impossible.  If  one  of  the  portraits  in  my 
chamber  had  spoken  to  me,  I  could  not  have  been  more 
surprised.  Gualterio  begged  me  to  keep  the  matter  secret, 
saying,  that  the  appointment  would  be  officially  announced 
to  me  ere  long. 

I  went  immediately  and  sought  out  Chamillart,  reproach- 
ing him  for  not  having  apprised  me  of  this  good  news.  He 
smiled  at  my  anger,  and  said  that  the  King  had  ordered 
the  news  to  be  kept  secret.  I  admit  that  I  was  nattered 
at  being  chosen  at  my  age  for  an  embassy  so  important. 
I  was  advised  on  every  side  to  accept  it,  and  this  I  de- 
termined to  do.  I  could  not  understand,  however,  how 
it  was  that  I  had  been  selected.  Torcy,  years  afterward, 
when  the  King  was  dead,  related  to  me  how  it  came 
about.  At  this  time  I  had  no  relations  with  Torcy,  it 
(373) 


MEMOIRS   OF   THE  DUKE   OF  SAINT-SIMON      379 

was  not  until  long  afterward  that  friendship  grew  up  be- 
tween us. 

He  said,  then,  that  the  embassy  being  vacant,  the 
King  wished  to  fill  up  that  appointment,  and  wished  also 
that  a  duke  should  be  ambassador.  He  took  an  almanac 
and  began  reading  the  names  of  the  dukes,  commencing 
with  M.  de  Uzes.  He  made  no  stop  until  he  came  to 
my  name.  Then  he  said  ( to  Torcy ) ;  (<  What  do  you  think 
of  him?  He  is  young,  but  he  is  good,"  etc.  The  King 
after  hearing  a  few  opinions  expressed  by  those  around 
him,  shut  up  the  almanac,  and  said  it  was  not  worth 
while  to  go  further,  determined  that  I  should  be  am- 
bassador, but  ordered  the  appointment  to  be  kept  secret. 
I  learned  this,  more  than  ten  years  after  its  occurrence, 
from  a  true  man,  who  had  no  longer  any  interest  or 
reason  to  disguise  anything  from  me. 

Advised  on  all  sides  by  my  friends  to  accept  the  post 
offered  to  me,  I  did  not  long  hesitate  to  do  so.  Madame 
de  Saint-Simon  gave  me  the  same  advice,  although  she 
herself  was  pained  at  the  idea  of  quitting  her  family.  I 
cannot  refuse  myself  the  pleasure  of  relating  here  what 
the  three  ministers  each  said  of  my  wife,  a  woman 
then  of  only  twenty-seven  years  of  age.  All  three,  un- 
known to  each  other,  and  without  solicitation  on  my  part, 
counseled  me  to  keep  none  of  the  affairs  of  my  embassy 
secret  from  her,  but  to  give  her  a  place  at  the  end  of 
the  table  when  I  read  or  wrote  my  dispatches,  and  to 
consult  her  with  deference  upon  everything.  I  have 
rarely  so  much  relished  advice  as  I  did  in  this  case. 
Although,  as  things  fell  out,  I  could  not  follow  it  at 
Rome,  I  had  followed  it  long  before,  and  continued  to 
do  so  all  my  life.  I  kept  nothing  secret  from  her,  and 
I  had  good  reason  to  be  pleased  that  I  did  not.  Her 
counsel  was  always  wise,  judicious,  and  useful,  and  often- 
times she  warded  off  from  me  many  inconveniences. 

But  to  continue  the  narrative  of  this  embassy.  It  was 
soon  so  generally  known  that  I  was  going  to  Rome,  that 
as  we  danced  at  Marly,  we  heard  people  say,  <(  Look !  M. 
1'Ambassadeur  or  Madame  l'Ambassadrice  are  dancing.* 
After  this  I  wished  the  announcement  to  be  made  public 
as  soon  as  possible,  but  the  King  was  not  to  be  hurried. 


380  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

Day  after  day  passed  by,  and  still  I  was  kept  in  suspense. 
At  last,  about  the  middle  of  April,  I  had  an  interview 
with  Chamillart  one  day,  just  after  he  came  out  of  the 
Council  at  which  I  knew  my  fate  had  been  decided.  I 
learned  then  that  the  King  had  determined  to  send  no 
ambassador  to  Rome.  The  Abbe"  de  La  Tremoille  was 
already  there;  he  had  been  made  cardinal,  and  was  to 
remain  and  attend  to  the  affairs  of  the  embassy.  I  found 
out  afterward  that  I  had  reason  to  attribute  to  Madame 
de  Maintenon  and  M.  du  Maine  the  change  in  the  King's 
intention  toward  me.  Madame  de  Saint-Simon  was  de- 
lighted. It  seemed  as  though  she  foresaw  the  strange 
discredit  in  which  the  affairs  of  the  King  were  going  to 
fall  in  Italy,  the  embarrassment  and  the  disorder  that 
public  misfortunes  would  cause  the  finances,  and  the  cr'uel 
situation  in  which  all  things  would  have  reduced  us  at 
Rome.  As  for  me,  I  had  had  so  much  leisure  to  console 
myself  before  hand,  that  I  had  need  of  no  more.  I  felt, 
however,  that  I  had  now  lost  all  favor  with  the  King, 
and,  indeed,  he  estranged  himself  from  me  more  and 
more  each  day.  By  what  means  I  recovered  myself  it  is 
not  yet  time  to  tell. 

On  the  night  between  the  3d  and  4th  of  February, 
Cardinal  Coislin,  Bishop  of  Orleans,  died.  He  was  a  little 
man,  very,  fat,  who  looked  like  a  village  curate.  His 
purity  of  manners  and  his  virtues  caused  him  to  be  much 
loved.  Two  good  actions  of  his  life  deserve  to  be  re- 
membered. 

When,  after  the  revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes,  the 
King  determined  to  convert  the  Huguenots  by  means  of 
dragoons  and  torture,  a  regiment  was  sent  to  Orleans,  to 
be  spread  abroad  in  the  diocese.  As  soon  as  it  arrived, 
M.  d'Orle'ans  sent  word  to  the  officers  that  they  might 
make  his  house  their  home;  that  their  horses  should  be 
lodged  in  his  stables.  He  begged  them  not  to  allow  a 
single  one  of  their  men  to  leave  the  town,  to  make  the 
slightest  disorder;  to  say  no  word  to  the  Huguenots,  and 
not  to  lodge  in  their  houses.  He  resolved  to  be  obeyed, 
and  he  was.  The  regiment  stayed  a  month,  and  cost  him 
a  good  deal.  At  the  end  of  that  time  he  so  managed 
matters  that  the  soldiers  were  sent  away,  and  none  came 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  381 

again.  This  conduct,  so  full  of  charity,  so  opposed  to  that 
of  nearly  all  the  other  dioceses,  gained  as  many  Hugue- 
nots as  were  gained  by  the  barbarities  they  suffered  else- 
where. It  needed  some  courage,  to  say  nothing  of 
generosity,  to  act  thus,  and  to  silently  blame,  as  it  were, 
the  conduct  of  the  King. 

The  other  action  of  M.  d'Orle'ans  was  less  public  and 
less  dangerous,  but  was  not  less  good.  He  secretly  gave 
away  many  alms  to  the  poor,  in  addition  to  those  he  gave 
publicly.  Among  those  whom  he  succored  was  a  poor, 
broken-down  gentleman,  without  wife  or  child,  to  whom 
he  gave  four  hundred  livres  of  pension,  and  a  place  at 
his  table  whenever  he  was  at  Orleans.  One  morning  the 
servants  of  M.  d'Orleans  told  their  master  that  ten  pieces 
of  plate  were  missing,  and  that  suspicion  fell  upon  the 
gentleman.  M.  d'Orleans  could  not  believe  him  guilty, 
but  as  he  did  not  make  his  appearance  at  the  house  for 
several  days,  was  forced  at  last  to  imagine  he  was  so. 
Upon  this  he  sent  for  the  gentleman,  who  admitted  him- 
self to  be  the  offender.  M.  d'Orleans  said  he  must  have 
been  strangely  pressed  to  commit  an  action  of  this  nature, 
and  reproached  him  for  not  having  mentioned  his  wants. 
Then,  drawing  twenty  louis  from  his  pocket,  he  gave  them 
to  the  gentleman,  told  him  to  forget  what  had  occurred, 
and  to  use  his  table  as  before.  M.  d'Orleans  prohibited 
his  servants  to  mention  their  suspicions,  and  this  anecdote 
would  never  have  been  known,  had  it  not  been  told  by 
the  gentleman  himself,  penetrated  with  confusion  and 
gratitude. 

M.  d'Orle'ans,  after  he  became  cardinal,  was  often 
pressed  by  his  friends  to  give  up  his  bishopric.  But  this 
he  would  not  listen  to.  The  King  had  for  him  a  respect 
that  was  almost  devotion.  When  Madame  de  Bourgogne 
was  about  to  be  delivered  of  her  first  child,  the  King 
sent  a  courier  to  M.  d'Orleans  requesting  him  to  come  to 
Court  immediately,  and  to  remain  there  until  after  the 
delivery.  When  the  child  was  born,  the  King  would  not 
allow  it  to  be  sprinkled  by  any  other  hand  than  that  of 
M.  d'Orleans.  The  poor  man,  very  fat,  as  I  have  said, 
always  sweated  very  much;  on  this  occasion,  wrapped  up 
in  his  cloak  and  his  lawn,  his  body  ran  with  sweat  in 


382  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

such  abundance,  that  in  the  antechamber  the  floor  was 
wet  all  round  where  he  stood.  All  the  Court  was  much 
afflicted  at  his  death;  the  King  more  than  anybody 
spoke  his  praises.  It  was  known  after  his  death,  from 
his  valet  de  chambre,  that  he  mortified  himself  continually 
with  instruments  of  penitence,  and  that  he  rose  every 
night  and  passed  an  hour  on  his  knees  in  prayer.  He 
received  the  Sacraments  with  great  piety,  and  died  the 
night  following  as  he  had  lived. 

Heudicourt  the  younger,  a  species  of  very  mischievous 
satyr,  and  much  mixed  up  in  grand  intrigues  of  gallantry, 
made,  about  this  time,  a  song  upon  the  grand  prevdt  and 
his  family.  It  was  so  simple,  so  true  to  nature,  withal 
so  pleasant,  that  some  one  having  whispered  it  in  the 
ear  of  the  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers  at  chapel,  he  could  not 
refrain  from  bursting  into  laughter,  although  he  was  'in 
attendance  at  the  mass  of  the  King.  The  Mare*chal  was 
the  gravest  and  most  serious  man  in  all  France;  the 
greatest  slave  to  decorum.  The  King  turned  round  there- 
fore in  surprise,  which  augmented  considerably  when  he 
saw  the  Mare"chal  de  Boufflers  nigh  to  bursting  with 
laughter,  and  the  tears  running  down  his  cheeks.  On 
returning  into  his  cabinet,  he  called  the  Mare"chal,  and 
asked  what  had  put  him  in  that  state  at  the  mass.  The 
Mar6chal  repeated  the  song  to  him.  Thereupon  the  King 
burst  out  louder  than  the  Marechal  had,  and  for  a  whole 
fortnight  afterward  could  not  help  smiling  whenever  he 
saw  the  grand  prevdt  or  any  of  his  family.  The  song 
soon  spread  about,  and  much  diverted  the  Court  and  the 
town. 

I  should  particularly  avoid  soiling  this  page  with  an  ac- 
count of  the  operation  for  fistula  which  Courcillon,  only 
son  of  Dangeau,  had  performed  upon  him,  but  for  the 
extreme  ridicule  with  which  it  was  accompanied.  Cour- 
cillon was  a  dashing  young  fellow,  much  given  to  witty 
sayings,  to  mischief,  to  impiety,  and  to  the  filthiest  de- 
bauchery, of  which  latter,  indeed,  this  operation  passed 
publicly  as  the  fruit.  His  mother,  Madame  Dangeau, 
was  in  the  strictest  intimacy  with  Madame  de  Maintenon. 
They  two  alone,  of  all  the  Court,  were  ignorant  of  the 
life  Courcillon  led.  Madame  was  much  afflicted;  and 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  383 

quitted  his  bedside,  even  for  a  moment,  with  pain.  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenon  entered  into  her  sorrow,  and  went 
every  day  to  bear  her  company  at  the  pillow  of  Courcil- 
lon.  Madame  d'Heudicourt,  another  intimate  friend  of 
Madame  de  Maintenon,  was  admitted  there  also,  but 
scarcely  anybody  else.  Courcillon  listened  to  them,  spoke 
devotionally  to  them,  and  uttered  the  reflections  sug- 
gested by  his  state.  They,  all  admiration,  published 
everywhere  that  he  was  a  saint.  Madame  d'Heudicourt 
and  a  few  others  who  listened  to  these  discourses,  and 
who  knew  the  pilgrim  well,  and  saw  him  loll  out  his 
tongue  at  them  on  the  sly,  knew  not  what  to  do  to  pre- 
vent their  laughter,  and  as  soon  as  they  could  get  away 
went  and  related  all  they  had  heard  to  their  friends. 
Courcillon,  who  thought  it  a  mighty  honor  to  have  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenon  every  day  for  nurse,  but  who,  never- 
theless, was  dying  of  weariness,  used  to  see  his  friends 
in  the  evening  (when  Madame  de  Maintenon  and  his 
mother  were  gone),  and  would  relate  to  them,  with  bur- 
lesque exaggeration,  all  the  miseries  he  had  suffered  dur- 
ing the  day,  and  ridicule  the  devotional  discourses  he  had 
listened  to.  All  the  time  his  illness  lasted,  Madame  de 
Maintenon  came  every  day  to  see  him,  so  that  her  cre- 
dulity, which  no  one  dared  to  enlighten,  was  the  laughing- 
stock of  the  Court.  She  conceived  such  a  high  opinion 
of  the  virtue  of  Ccurcillon,  that  she  cited  him  always  as 
an  example,  and  the  King  also  formed  the  same  opinion. 
Courcillon  took  good  care  not  to  try  and  cultivate  it  when 
he  became  cured;  yet  neither  the  King  nor  Madame  de 
Maintenon  opened  their  eyes,  or  changed  their  conduct 
toward  him.  Madame  de  Maintenon,  it  must  be  said,  ex- 
cept in  the  sublime  intrigue  of  her  government  and  with 
the  King,  was  always  the  queen  of  dupes. 

It  would  seem  that  there  are,  at  certain  times,  fash- 
ions in  crimes  as  in  clothes.  At  the  period  of  the  Voy- 
sins  and  the  Brinvilliers,  there  were  nothing  but  poisoners 
abroad;  and  against  these,  a  court  was  expressly  insti- 
tuted, called  ardente,  because  it  condemned  them  to  the 
flames.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  now  speaking,  1703, 
for  I  forgot  to  relate  what  follows  in  its  proper  place, 
forgers  of  writings  were  in  the  ascendant,  and  became 


384  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

so  common,  that  a  chamber  was  established  composed  of 
councilors  of  state  and  others,  solely  to  judge  the  accu- 
sations which  this  sort  of  criminals  gave  rise  to. 

The  Bouillons  wished  to  be  recognized  as  descended, 
by  male  issue,  of  the  Counts  of  Auvergne,  and  to  claim 
all  kinds  of  distinctions  and  honors  in  consequence. 
They  had,  however,  no  proofs  of  this,  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, their  genealogy  proved  it  to  be  false.  All  on  a 
sudden,  an  old  document  that  had  been  interred  in  the 
obscurity  of  ages  in  the  church  of  Brioude,  was  pre- 
sented to  Cardinal  Bouillon.  It  had  all  the  marks  of 
antiquity,  and  contained  a  triumphant  proof  of  the  de- 
scent of  the  house  of  La  Tour,  to  which  the  Bouillons 
belonged,  from  the  ancient  Counts  of  Auvergne.  The 
Cardinal  was  delighted  to  have  in  his  hands  this  precious 
document.  But  to  avoid  all  suspicion,  he  affected  mod- 
esty, and  hesitated  to  give  faith  to  evidence  so  decisive. 
He  spoke  in  confidence  to  all  the  learned  men  he  knew, 
and  begged  them  to  examine  the  document  with  care,  so 
that  he  might  not  be  the  dupe  of  a  too  easy  belief  in  it. 

Whether  the  examiners  were  deceived  by  the  docu- 
ment, or  whether  they  allowed  themselves  to  be  seduced 
into  believing  it,  as  is  more  than  probable,  from  fear  of 
giving  offense  to  the  Cardinal,  need  not  be  discussed. 
It  is  enough  to  say  that  they  pronounced  in  favor  of  the 
deed,  and  that  Father  Mabillon,  that  Benedictine  so  well 
known  throughout  all  Europe  by  his  sense  and  his  can- 
dor, was  led  by  the  others  to  share  their  opinion. 

After  this,  Cardinal  de  Bouillon  no  longer  affected  any 
doubt  about  the  authenticity  of  the  discovery.  All  his 
friends  complimented  him  upon  it,  the  majority  to  see 
how  he  would  receive  their  congratulations.  It  was  a 
chaos  rather  than  a  mixture,  of  vanity  the  most  out- 
rageous, modesty  the  most  affected,  and  joy  the  most 
immoderate  which  he  could  not  restrain. 

Unfortunately,  De  Bar,  who  had  found  the  precious 
document,  and  who  had  presented  it  to  Cardinal  de 
Bouillon,  was  arrested  and  put  in  prison  a  short  time 
after  this,  charged  with  many  forgeries.  This  event 
made  some  stir,  and  caused  suspicion  to  fall  upon  the 
document,  which  was  now  attentively  examined  through 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  385 

many  new  spectacles.  Learned  men  unacquainted  with 
the  Bouillons  contested  it,  and  De  Bar  was  so  pushed 
upon  this  point,  that  he  made  many  delicate  admissions. 
Alarm  at  once  spread  among  the  Bouillons.  They  did 
all  in  their  power  to  ward  off  the  blow  that  was  about 
to  fall.  Seeing  the  tribunal  firm,  and  fully  resolved  to 
follow  the  affair  to  the  end,  they  openly  solicited  for  De 
Bar,  and  employed  all  their  credit  to  gain  his  liberation. 
At  last,  finding  the  tribunal  inflexible,  they  were  reduced 
to  take  an  extreme  resolution.  M.  de  Bouillon  admitted 
to  the  King,  that  his  brother,  Cardinal  de  Bouillon, 
might,  unknown  to  all  of  them,  have  brought  forward 
facts  he  could  not  prove.  He  added,  that  putting  him- 
self in  the  King's  hands,  he  begged  that  the  affair  might 
be  stopped  at  once,  out  of  consideration  for  those  whose 
only  guilt  was  too  great  credulity,  and  too  much  confi- 
dence in  a  brother  who  had  deceived  them.  The  King, 
with  more  of  friendship  for  M.  de  Bouillon,  than  of  re- 
flection as  to  what  he  owed  by  way  of  reparation  for  a 
public  offense,  agreed  to  this  course. 

De  Bar,  convicted  of  having  fabricated  this  document, 
by  his  own  admission  before  the  public  tribunal,  was  not 
condemned  to  death,  but  to  perpetual  imprisonment.  As 
may  be  believed,  this  adventure  made  a  great  stir;  but 
what  cannot  be  believed  so  easily  is,  the  conduct 
of  the  Messieurs  Bouillon  about  fifteen  months  after- 
ward. 

At  the  time  when  the  false  document  above  referred 
to  was  discovered,  Cardinal  de  Bouillon  had  commissioned 
Baluze,  a  man  much  given  to  genealogical  studies,  to 
write  the  history  of  the  house  of  Auvergne.  In  this 
history,  the  descent,  by  male  issue,  of  the  Bouillons  from 
the  Counts  of  Auvergne,  was  established  upon  the  evi- 
dence supplied  by  this  document.  At  least,  nobody 
doubted  that  such  was  the  case,  and  the  world  was 
strangely  scandalized  to  see  the  work  appear  after  that 
document  had  been  pronounced  to  be  a  forgery.  Many 
learned  men  and  friends  of  Baluze  considered  him  so 
dishonored  by  it,  that  they  broke  off  all  relations  with 
him,  and  this  put  the  finishing  touch  to  the  confusion  of 
this  affair. 
25 


386  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

On  Thursday,  the  7th  of  March,  1707,  a  strange  event 
troubled  the  King,  and  filled  the  Court  and  the  town 
with  rumors.  Beringhen,  first  master  of  the  horse,  left 
Versailles  at  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  that  day,  to 
go  to  Paris,  alone  in  one  of  the  King's  coaches,  two  of 
the  royal  footmen  behind,  and  a  groom  carrying  a  torch 
before  him  on  the  seventh  horse.  The  carriage  had 
reached  the  plain  of  Bissancourt,  and  was  passing  between 
a  farm  on  the  road  near  Sevres  bridge  and  a  cabaret, 
called  the  <c  Dawn  of  Day,  *  when  it  was  stopped  by  fifteen 
or  sixteen  men  on  horseback,  who  seized  on  Beringhen, 
hurried  him  into  a  post-chaise  in  waiting,  and  drove  off 
with  him.  The  King's  carriage,  with  the  coachman, 
footmen,  and  groom,  was  allowed  to  go  back  to  Ver- 
sailles. As  soon  as  it  reached  Versailles  the  King  was 
informed  of  what  had  taken  place.  He  sent  immediately 
to  his  four  secretaries  of  State,  ordering  them  to  send 
couriers  everywhere  to  the  frontiers,  with  instructions 
to  the  governors  to  guard  all  the  passages,  so  that  if 
these  horsemen  were  foreign  enemies,  as  was  suspected, 
they  would  be  caught  in  attempting  to  pass  out  of  the 
kingdom.  It  was  known  that  a  party  of  the  enemy  had 
entered  Artois,  that  they  had  committed  no  disorders, 
but  that  they  were  there  still.  Although  people  found  it 
difficult,  at  first,  to  believe  that  Beringhen  had  been  car- 
ried off  by  a  party  such  as  this,  yet  as  it  was  known 
that  he  had  no  enemies,  that  he  was  not  reputed  suffi- 
ciently rich  to  afford  hope  of  a  large  ransom,  and 
that  not  one  of  our  wealthiest  financiers  had  been  seized 
in  this  manner,  this  explanation  was  at  last  accepted  as 
the  right  one. 

So  in  fact  it  proved.  A  certain  Guetem,  a  fiddler  of 
the  Elector  of  Bavaria,  had  entered  the  service  of  Hol- 
land, had  taken  part  in  the  war  against  France,  and  had 
become  a  colonel.  Chatting  one  evening  with  his  com- 
rades, he  laid  a  wager  that  he  would  carry  off  some  one 
of  mark  between  Paris  and  Versailles.  He  obtained  a 
passport,  and  thirty  chosen  men,  nearly  all  of  whom  were 
officers.  They  passed  the  rivers  disguised  as  traders,  by 
which  means  they  were  enabled  to  post  their  relays  [of 
horses].  Several  of  them  had  remained  seven  or  eight 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  387 

days  at  Sevres,  Saint  Cloud,  and  Boulogne,  from  which 
they  had  the  hardihood  to  go  to  Versailles  and  see  the 
King  sup.  One  of  these  was  caught  on  the  day  after 
the  disappearance  of  Beringhen,  and  when  interrogated 
by  Chamillart,  replied  with  a  tolerable  amount  of  im- 
pudence. Another  was  caught  in  the  forest  of  Chantilly 
by  one  of  the  servants  of  M.  le  Prince.  From  him  it 
became  known  that  relays  of  horses  and  post-chaise 
had  been  provided  at  Morliere  for  the  prisoner  when  he 
should  arrive  there,  and  that  he  had  already  passed  the  Oise. 

As  I  have  said,  couriers  were  dispatched  to  the  gov- 
ernors of  the  frontiers;  in  addition  to  this,  information 
of  what  had  taken  place  was  sent  to  all  the  intendants 
of  the  frontier,  to  all  the  troops  in  quarters  there.  Sev- 
eral of  the  King's  guards,  too,  and  the  grooms  of  the 
stable,  went  in  pursuit  of  the  captors  of  Beringhen.  Not- 
withstanding the  diligence  used,  the  horsemen  had  trav- 
ersed the  Somme  and  had  gone  four  leagues  beyond  Ham 
—  Beringhen,  guarded  by  the  officers,  and  pledged  to 
offer  no  resistance  —  when  the  party  was  stopped  by  a 
quartermaster  and  two  detachments  of  the  Livry  regiment. 
Beringhen  was  at  once  set  at  liberty.  Guetem  and  his 
companions  were  made  prisoners. 

The  grand  fault  they  had  committed  was  to  allow  the 
King's  carriage  and  the  footmen  to  go  back  to  Versailles 
so  soon  after  the  abduction.  Had  they  led  away  the 
coach  under  cover  of  the  night,  and  so  kept  the  King  in 
ignorance  of  their  doings  until  the  next  day,  they  would 
have  had  more  time  for  their  retreat.  Instead  of  doing 
this  they  fatigued  themselves  by  too  much  haste.  They 
had  grown  tired  of  waiting  for  a  carriage  that  seemed 
likely  to  contain  somebody  of  mark.  The  Chancellor  had 
passed,  but  in  broad  daylight,  and  they  were  afraid  in 
consequence  to  stop  him.  M.  le  Due  d'Orle'ans  had  passed, 
but  in  a  post-chaise,  which  they  mistrusted.  At  last 
Beringhen  appeared  in  one  of  the  King's  coaches,  attended 
by  servants  in  the  King's  livery,  and  wearing  his  cordon 
bleu,  as  was  his  custom.  They  thought  they  had  found 
a  prize  indeed.  They  soon  learned  with  whom  they  had 
to  deal,  and  told  him  also  who  they  were.  Guetem 
bestowed  upon  Beringhen  all  kinds  of  attention,  and  testi- 


388  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

fied  a  great  desire  to  spare  him  as  much  as  possible  all 
fatigue.  He  pushed  his  attentions  so  far  that  they  caused 
his  failure.  He  allowed  Beringhen  to  stop  and  rest  on 
two  occasions.  The  party  missed  one  of  their  relays, 
and  that  delayed  them  very  much. 

Beringhen,  delighted  with  his  rescue,  and  very  grate- 
ful for  the  good  treatment  he  had  received,  changed 
places  with  Guetem  and  his  companions,  led  them  to 
Ham,  and  in  his  turn  treated  them  well.  He  wrote  to 
his  wife  and  to  Chamillart  announcing  his  release,  and 
these  letters  were  read  with  much  satisfaction  by  the  King. 

On  Tuesday,  the  2gth  of  March,  Beringhen  arrived  at 
Versailles,  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  went 
at  once  to  the  King,  who  was  in  the  apartments  of  Ma- 
dame de  Maintenon,  and  who  received  him  well,  and 
made  him  relate  all  his  adventures.  But  the  King  was 
not  pleased  when  he  found  the  officers  of  the  stable  in  a 
state  of  great  delight,  and  preparing  fireworks  to  wel- 
come Beringhen  back.  He  prohibited  all  these  marks  of 
rejoicing,  and  would  not  allow  the  fireworks  to  be  let 
off.  He  had  these  little  jealousies.  He  wished  that  all 
should  be  devoted  to  him  alone,  without  reserve  and 
without  division.  All  the  Court,  however,  showed  interest 
in  this  return,  and  Beringhen  was  consoled  by  the  public 
welcome  he  received  for  his  fatigue. 

Guetem  and  his  officers,  while  waiting  the  pleasure  of 
the  King,  were  lodged  in  Beringhen's  house  in  Paris, 
where  they  were  treated  above  their  deserts.  Beringhen 
obtained  permission  for  Guetem  to  see  the  King.  He 
did  more ;  he  presented  Guetem  to  the  King,  who  praised 
him  for  having  so  well  treated  his  prisoner,  and  said 
that  war  always  ought  to  be  conducted  properly.  Guetem, 
who  was  not  without  wit,  replied,  that  he  was  so  aston- 
ished to  find  himself  before  the  greatest  King  in  the 
world,  and  to  find  that  King  doing  him  the  honor  of 
speaking  to  him,  that  he  had  not  power  enough  to  answer. 
He  remained  ten  or  twelve  days  in  Beringhen's  house  to 
see  Paris,  the  opera  and  the  comedy,  and  became  the 
talk  of  the  town.  People  ran  after  him  everywhere,  and 
the  most  distinguished  were  not  ashamed  to  do  likewise. 
On  all  sides  he  was  applauded  for  an  act  of  temerity, 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  389 

which  might  have  passed  for  insolence.  Beringhen  re- 
galed him,  furnished  him  with  carriages  and  servants  to 
accompany  him,  and,  at  parting,  with  money  and  con- 
siderable presents.  Guetem  went  on  his  parole  to  Rheims 
to  rejoin  his  comrades  until  exchanged,  and  had  the  town 
for  prison.  Nearly  all  the  others  had  escaped.  The 
project  was  nothing  less  than  to  carry  off  Monseigneur, 
or  one  of  the  princes,  his  sons. 

This  ridiculous  adventure  gave  rise  to  precautions,  ex- 
cessive in  the  first  place,  and  which  caused  sad  obstruc- 
tions of  bridges  and  gates.  It  caused,  too,  a  number  of 
people  to  be  arrested.  The  hunting  parties  of  the  princes 
were  for  some  time  interfered  with,  until  matters  re- 
sumed their  usual  course.  But  it  was  not  bad  fun  to  see, 
during  some  time,  the  terror  of  ladies,  and  even  of  men, 
of  the  Court,  who  no  longer  dared  go  abroad  except  in 
broad  daylight,  even  then  with  little  assurance,  and  imagin- 
ing themselves  everywhere  in  marvelous  danger  of  capture. 

I  have  related  in  its  proper  place  the  adventure  of 
Madame  la  Princess  de  Conti  with  Mademoiselle  Choin 
and  the  attachment  of  Monseigneur  for  the  latter.  This 
attachment  was  only  augmented  by  the  difficulty  of  see- 
ing each  other. 

Mademoiselle  Choin  retired  to  the  house  of  Lacroix, 
one  of  her  relatives  at  Paris,  where  she  lived  quite  hid- 
den. She  was  informed  of  the  rare  days  when  Mon- 
seigneur dined  alone  at  Meudon,  without  sleeping  there. 
She  went  there  the  day  before  in  a  fiacre,  passed  through 
the  courts  on  foot,  ill  clad,  like  a  common  sort  of  woman 
going  to  see  some  officer  at  Meudon,  and,  by  a  back 
staircase,  was  admitted  to  Monseigneur  who  passed  some 
hours  with  her  in  a  little  apartment  on  the  first  floor. 
In  time  she  came  there  with  a  lady's  maid,  her  parcel 
in  her  pocket,  on  the  evenings  of  the  days  that  Mon- 
seigneur slept  there.  She  remained  in  this  apartment 
without  seeing  anybody,  attended  by  her  lady's  maid, 
and  waited  upon  by  a  servant  who  alone  was  in  the  secret. 

Little  by  little  the  friends  of  Monseigneur  were  allowed 
to  see  her;  and  among  these  were  M.  le  Prince  de  Conti, 
Monseigneur  le  Due  de  Bourgogne,  Madame  la  Duchess 
de  Bourgogne,  and  M.  le  Due  de  Berry.  There  was  always, 


390      MEMOIRS   OF   THE   DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON 

however,  an  air  of  mystery  about  the  matter.  The  par- 
ties that  took  place  were  kept  secret,  although  frequent, 
and  were  called  parvulos. 

Mademoiselle  Choin  remained  in  her  little  apartment 
only  for  the  convenience  of  Monseigneur.  She  slept  in 
the  bed  and  in  the  grand  apartment  where  Madame  la 
Duchess  de  Bourgogne  lodged  when  the  King  was  at 
Meudon.  She  always  sat  in  an  armchair  before  Mon- 
seigneur; Madame  de  Bourgogne  sat  on  a  stool.  Made- 
moiselle Choin  never  rose  for  her;  in  speaking  of  her, 
even  before  Monseigneur  and  the  company,  she  used  to 
say  "the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne,*  and  lived  with  her  as 
Madame  de  Maintenon  did  excepting  that  (<  darling"  and 
"my  aunt®  were  terms  not  exchanged  between  them, 
and  that  Madame  de  Bourgogne  was  not  nearly  so  free, 
or  so  much  at  her  ease,  as  with  the  King  and  Madame 
de  Maintenon.  Monsieur  de  Bourgogne  was  much  in 
restraint.  His  manners  did  not  agree  with  those  of  that 
world.  Monseigneur  le  Due  de  Berry,  who  was  more  free, 
was  quite  at  home. 

Mademoiselle  Choin  went  on  f$te  days  to  hear  mass  in 
the  chapel  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  well  wrapped 
up  and  took  her  meals  alone,  when  Monseigneur  did  not 
eat  with  her.  When  he  was  alone  with  her  the  doors 
were  all  guarded  and  barricaded  to  keep  out  intruders. 
People  regarded  her  as  being  to  Monseigneur  what 
Madame  de  Maintenon  was  to  the  King.  All  the  bat- 
teries for  the  future  were  directed  and  pointed  toward 
her.  People  schemed  to  gain  permission  to  visit  her  at 
Paris;  people  paid  court  to  her  friends  and  acquaintances; 
Monseigneur  le  Due  de  Bourgogne  sought  to  please  her, 
was  respectful  to  her,  attentive  to  her  friends,  not  always 
with  success.  She  acted  toward  Monseigneur  le  Due  de 
Bourgogne  like  a  mother-in-law,  and  sometimes  spoke 
with  such  authority  and  bluntness  to  Madame  de  Bour- 
gogne as  to  make  her  cry. 

The  King  and  Madame  de  Maintenon  were  in  no  way 
ignorant  of  all  this,  but  they  held  their  tongues,  and 
all  the  Court  who  knew  it  spoke  only  in  whispers  of  it. 
This  is  enough  for  the  present ;  it  will  serve  to  explain 
many  things,  of  which  I  shall  speak  anon. 


CHAPTER    XXXVIII. 

Death  and  Last  Days  of  Madame  de  Montespan  —  Selfishness  of  the 
King  —  Death  and  Character  of  Madame  de  Nemours  —  Neufchatel 
and  Prussia  —  Campaign  of  Villars  —  Naval  Successes  —  Inundations 
of  the  Loire  —  Siege  of  Toulon  —  A  Quarrel  about  News  —  Quixotic 
Dispatches  of  Tesse. 

ON  WEDNESDAY,  the  27th  of  May,  1707,  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  Madame  de  Montespan,  aged  sixty, 
died  very  suddenly  at  the  waters  of  Bourbon.  Her 
death  made  much  stir,  although  she  had  long  retired  from 
the  Court  and  from  the  world,  and  preserved  no  trace  of 
the  commanding  influence  she  had  so  long  possessed.  I 
need  not  go  back  beyond  my  own  experience,  and  to  the 
time  of  her  reign  as  mistress  of  the  King.  I  will  simply 
say,  because  the  anecdote  is  little  known,  that  her  con- 
duct was  more  the  fault  of  her  husband  than  her  own. 
She  warned  him  as  soon  as  she  suspected  the  King  to  be 
in  love  with  her;  and  told  him  when  there  was  no  longer 
any  doubt  upon  her  mind.  She  assured  him  that  a  great 
entertainment  that  the  King  gave  was  in  her  honor.  She 
pressed  him,  she  entreated  him  in  the  most  eloquent 
manner,  to  take  her  away  to  his  estates  of  Guyenne,  and 
leave  her  there  until  the  King  had  forgotten  her  or 
chosen  another  mistress.  It  was  all  to  no  purpose;  and 
Montespan  was  not  long  before  repentance  seized  him; 
for  his  torment  was  that  he  loved  her  all  his  life,  and 
died  still  in  love  with  her  —  although  he  would  never  con- 
sent to  see  her  again  after  the  first  scandal. 

Nor  will  I  speak  of  the  divers  degrees  which  the  fear 
of  the  devil  at  various  times  put  to  her  separation  from 
the  Court;  and  I  will  elsewhere  speak  of  Madame  de 
Maintenon,  who  owed  her  everything,  who  fed  her  on 
serpents,  and  who  at  last  ousted  her  from  the  Court.  What 
no  one  dared  to  say,  what  the  King  himself  dared  not, 
M.  du  Maine,  her  son,  dared.  M.  de  Meaux  (Bossuet)  did 

(39i) 


392  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

the  rest.  She  went  in  tears  and  fury,  and  never  forgave 
M.  du  Maine,  who  by  his  strange  service  gained  over  for- 
ever to  his  interests  the  heart  and  the  mighty  influence 
of  Madame  de  Maintenon. 

The  mistress,  retired  among  the  Community  of  St. 
Joseph,  which  she  had  built,  was  long  in  accustoming 
herself  to  it.  She  carried  about  her  idleness  and  unhap- 
-piness  to  Bourbon,  to  Fontevrault,  to  D'Antin;  she  was 
many  years  without  succeeding  in  obtaining  mastery  over 
herself.  At  last  God  touched  her.  Her  sin  had  never 
been  accompanied  by  f orgetfulness ;  she  used  often  to 
leave  the  King  to  go  and  pray  in  her  cabinet;  nothing 
could  ever  make  her  evade  any  fast  day  or  meagre  day; 
her  austerity  in  fasting  continued  amid  all  her  dissipa- 
tion. She  gave  alms,  was  esteemed  by  good  people,  never 
gave  way  to  doubt  or  impiety;  but  she  was  imperious, 
haughty  and  overbearing,  full  of  mockery,  and  of  all  the 
qualities  by  which  beauty  with  the  power  it  bestows  is 
naturally  accompanied.  Being  resolved  at  last  to  take 
advantage  of  an  opportunity  which  had  been  given  her 
against  her  will,  she  put  herself  in  the  hands  of  Pere  de 
la  Tour,  that  famous  General  of  the  Oratory.  From  that 
moment  to  the  time  of  her  death  her  conversion  continued 
steadily,  and  her  penitence  augmented.  She  had  first  to 
get  rid  of  the  secret  fondness  she  still  entertained  for  the 
Court,  even  of  the  hopes  which,  however  chimerical,  had 
always  flattered  her.  She  was  persuaded  that  nothing 
but  the  fear  of  the  devil  had  forced  the  King  to  separate 
himself  from  her,  that  it  was  nothing  but  this  fear  that 
had  raised  Madame  de  Maintenon  to  the  height  she  had 
attained;  that  age  and  ill  health,  which  she  was  pleased 
to  imagine,  would  soon  clear  the  way;  that  when  the 
King  was  a  widower,  she  being  a  widow,  nothing  would 
oppose  their  reunion,  which  might  easily  be  brought  about 
by  the  affection  for  their  children.  These  children  en- 
tertained similar  hopes,  and  were  therefore  assiduous  in 
their  attention  to  her  for  some  time. 

Pere  de  la  Tour  made  her  perform  a  terrible  act  of 
penitence.  It  was  to  ask  pardon  of  her  husband,  and  to 
submit  herself  to  his  commands.  To  all  who  knew 
Madame  de  Montespan,  this  will  seem  the  most  heroic 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  393 

sacrifice.  M.  de  Montespan,  however,  imposed  no  re- 
straint upon  his  wife.  He  sent  word  that  he  wished  in 
no  way  to  interfere  with  her,  or  even  to  see  her.  She 
experienced  no  further  trouble,  therefore,  on  this  score. 

Little  by  little  she  gave  almost  all  she  had  to  the 
poor.  She  worked  for  them  several  hours  a  day,  making 
stout  shirts  and  such  things  for  them.  Her  table,  that 
she  had  loved  to  excess,  became  the  most  frugal;  her 
fasts  multiplied  ;  she  would  interrupt  her  meals  in  order 
to  go  and  pray.  Her  mortifications  were  continued  ;  her 
chemises  and  her  sheets  were  of  rough  linen,  of  the 
hardest  and  thickest  kind,  but  hidden  under  others  of 
ordinary  kind.  She  unceasingly  wore  bracelets,  garters, 
and  a  girdle,  all  armed  with  iron  points,  which  often- 
times inflicted  wounds  upon  her  ;  and  her  tongue,  form- 
ally so  dangerous,  had  also  its  peculiar  penance  imposed 
on  it.  She  was,  moreover,  so  tormented  with  the  fear 
of  death,  that  she  employed  several  women,  whose  sole 
occupation  was  to  watch  her.  She  went  to  sleep 
with  all  the  curtains  of  her  bed  open,  many  lights  in 
her  chamber,  and  her  women  around  her.  Whenever 
she  awoke  she  wished  to  find  them  chatting,  playing,  or 
enjoying  themselves,  so  as  to  reassure  herself  against 
their  drowsiness. 

With  all  this  she  could  never  throw  off  the  manners 
of  a  queen.  She  had  an  armchair  in  her  chamber  with 
its  back  turned  to  the  foot  of  the  bed.  There  was  no 
other  in  the  chamber,  not  even  when  her  natural 
children  came  to  see  her,  not  even  for  Madame  la 
Duchess  d'Orle'ans.  She  was  oftentimes  visited  by  the 
most  distinguished  people  of  the  Court,  and  she  spoke 
like  a  queen  to  all.  She  treated  everybody  with  much 
respect,  and  was  treated  so  in  turn.  I  have  mentioned 
in  its  proper  place,  that  a  short  time  before  her  death 
the  King  gave  her  a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  buy  an 
estate  ;  but  this  present  was  not  gratis,  for  she  had  to 
send  back  a  necklace  worth  a  hundred  and  fifty  thou- 
sand, to  which  the  King  made  additions,  and  bestowed 
it  on  the  Duchess  de  Bourgogne. 

The  last  time  Madame  de  Montespan  went  to  Bourbon 
she  paid  all  her  charitable  pensions  and  gratuities  two 


394  MEMOIRS   OF  THE 

years  in  advance  and  doubled  her  alms.  Although  in 
good  health  she  had  a  presentiment  that  she  should  re- 
turn no  more.  This  presentiment,  in  effect,  proved  cor- 
rect. She  felt  herself  so  ill  one  night,  although  she  had 
been  very  well  just  before,  that  she  confessed  herself, 
and  received  the  Sacrament.  Previous  to  this  she  called 
all  her  servants  into  her  room  and  made  a  public  con. 
fession  of  her  public  sins,  asking  pardon  for  the  scandal  She 
had  caused  with  a  humility  so  decent,  so  profound,  so 
penitent,  that  nothing  could  be  more  edifying.  She  re- 
ceived the  last  Sacrament  with  an  ardent  piety.  The 
fear  of  death  which  all  her  life  had  so  continually 
troubled  her,  disappeared  suddenly,  and  disturbed  her 
no  more.  She  died  without  regret,  occupied  only  with 
thoughts  of  eternity,  and  with  a  sweetness  and  tranquillity 
that  accompanied  all  her  actions. 

Her  only  son  by  Monsieur  de  Montespan,  whom  she 
had  treated  like  a  mother-in-law,  until  her  separation 
from  the  King,  but  who  had  since  returned  to  her  affection, 
D'Antin,  arrived  just  before  her  death.  She  looked  at 
him,  and  only  said  that  he  saw  her  in  a  very  different 
state  to  what  he  had  seen  her  at  Bellegarde.  As  soon  as  she 
was  dead  he  set  out  for  Paris,  leaving  orders  for  her 
obsequies,  which  were  strange,  or  were  strangely  exe- 
cuted. Her  body,  formerly  so  perfect,  became  the  prey 
of  the  unskillfulness  and  the  ignorance  of  a  surgeon. 
The  obsequies  were  at  the  discretion  of  the  commonest 
valets,  all  the  rest  of  the  house  having  suddenly  deserted. 
The  body  remained  a  long  time  at  the  door  of  the 
house,  while  the  canons  of  the  Sainte  Chapelle  and  the 
priests  of  the  parish  disputed  about  the  order  of  pre- 
cedence with  more  than  indecency.  It  was  put  in  keep- 
ing under  care  of  the  parish,  like  the  corpse  of  the 
meanest  citizen  of  the  place,  and  not  until  a  long  time 
afterward  was  it  sent  to  Poitiers  to  be  placed  in  the 
family  tomb,  and  then  with  an  unworthy  parsimony. 
Madame  de  Montespan  was  bitterly  regretted  by  all  the 
poor  of  the  province,  among  whom  she  spread  an  infin- 
ity of  alms,  as  well  as  among  others  of  different  degree. 

As  for  the  King,  his  perfect  insensibility  at  the  death 
of  a  mistress  he  had  so  passionately  loved,  and  for  so 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  395 

many  years,  was  so  extreme,  that  Madame  de  Bourgogne 
could  not  keep  her  surprise  from  him.  He  replied,  tran- 
quilly, that  since  he  had  dismissed  her  he  had  reckoned 
upon  never  seeing  her  again,  and  that  thus  she  was  from 
that  time  dead  to  him.  It  is  easy  to  believe  that  the 
grief  of  the  children  he  had  had  by  her  did  not  please 
him.  Those  children  did  not  dare  to  wear  mourning  for 
a  mother  not  recognized.  Their  appearance,  therefore, 
contrasted  with  that  of  the  children  of  Madame  de  la  Val- 
liere,  who  had  just  died,  and  for  whom  they  were  wearing 
mourning.  Nothing  could  equal  the  grief  which  Madame 
la  Duchess  d'Orle'ans,  Madame  la  Duchess,  and  the  Comte 
de  Toulouse  exhibited.  The  grief  of  Madame  la  Duchess 
especially  was  astonishing,  for  she  always  prided  herself 
on  loving  nobody ;  still  more  astonishing  was  the  grief  of 
M.  le  Due,  so  inaccessible  to  friendship.  We  must  re- 
member, however,  that  this  death  put  an  end  to  many 
hopes.  M.  du  Maine,  for  his  part,  could  scarcely  repress 
his  joy  at  the  death  of  his  mother,  and  after  having 
stopped  away  from  Marly  two  days,  returned  and  caused 
the  Comte  of  Toulouse  to  be  recalled  likewise.  Madame 
de  Maintenon,  delivered  of  a  former  rival,  whose  place 
she  had  taken,  ought,  it  might  have  been  thought,  to 
have  felt  relieved.  It  was  otherwise;  remorse  for  the 
benefits  she  had  received  from  Madame  de  Montespan, 
and  for  the  manner  in  which  those  benefits  had  been 
repaid,  overwhelmed  her.  Tears  stole  down  her  cheeks, 
and  she  went  into  a  strange  privacy  to  hide  them. 
Madame  de  Bourgogne,  who  followed,  was  speechless 
with  astonishment. 

The  life  and  conduct  of  so  famous  a  mistress,  subse- 
quent to  her  forced  retirement,  have  appeared  to  me 
sufficiently  curious  to  describe  at  length;  and  what  hap- 
pened at  her  death  was  equally  characteristic  of  the 
Court. 

The  death  of  the  Duchess  de  Nemours,  which  followed 
quickly  upon  that  of  Madame  de  Montespan,  made  still 
more  stir  in  the  world,  but  of  another  kind.  Madame  de 
Nemours  was  daughter,  by  a  first  marriage,  of  the  last 
Due  de  Longueville.  She  was  extremely  rich,  and  lived 
in  great  splendor.  She  had  a  strange  look,  and  a  droll 


396  MEMOIRS   OF   THE 

way  of  dressing, — big  eyes  with  which  she  could  scarcely 
see,  a  shoulder,  that  constantly  twitched,  gray  hairs  that 
she  wore  flowing,  and  a  very  imposing  air.  She  had  a  very 
bad  temper,  and  could  not  forgive.  When  somebody 
asked  her  if  she  said  the  Pater,  she  replied,  yes,  but  that 
she  passed  by  without  saying  it  the  clause  respecting  par- 
don for  our  enemies.  She  did  not  like  her  kinsfolk,  the 
Matignons,  and  would  never  see  or  speak  to  any  of  them. 
One  day  talking  to  the  King  at  a  window  of  his  cabinet, 
she  saw  Matignon  passing  in  the  court  below.  Whereupon 
she  set  to  spitting  five  or  six  times  running,  and  then 
turned  to  the  King  and  begged  his  pardon,  saying,  that 
she  could  never  see  a  Matignon  without  spitting  in  that 
manner.  It  may  be  imagined  that  devotion  did  not  in- 
commode her.  She  herself  used  to  tell  a  story,  that  hav- 
ing entered  one  day  a  confessional,  without  being  followed 
into  the  church,  neither  her  appearance  nor  her  dress 
gave  her  confessor  an  idea  of  her  rank.  She  spoke  of 
her  great  wealth,  and  said  much  about  the  Princes  de 
Conde"  and  de  Conti.  The  confessor  told  her  to  pass  by 
all  that.  She,  feeling  that  the  case  was  a  serious  one, 
insisted  upon  explaining  and  made  allusion  to  her  large 
estates  and  her  millions.  The  good  priest  believed  her 
mad,  and  told  her  to  calm  herself;  to  get  rid  of  such 
ideas;  to  think  no  more  of  them;  and  above  all  to  eat 
good  soups,  if  she  had  the  means  to  procure  them. 
Seized  with  anger  she  rose  and  left  the  place.  The  con- 
fessor out  of  curiosity  followed  her  to  the  door.  When 
he  saw  the  good  lady,  whom  he  thought  mad,  received  by 
grooms,  waiting  women,  and  so  on,  he  had  liked  to  have 
fallen  backward ;  but  he  ran  to  the  coach  door  and  asked 
her  pardon.  It  was  now  her  turn  to  laugh  at  him,  and 
she  got  off  scot-free  that  day  from  the  confessional. 

Madame  de  Nemours  had  among  other  possessions  the 
sovereignty  of  Neufchatel.  As  soon  as  she  was  dead, 
various  claimants  arose  to  dispute  the  succession.  Ma- 
dame de  Mailly  laid  claim  to  it,  as  to  the  succession  to 
the  principality  of  Orange,  upon  the  strength  of  a  very 
doubtful  alliance  with  the  house  of  Chalons,  and  hoped 
to  be  supported  by  Madame  de  Maintenon.  But  Madame 
de  Maintenon  laughed  at  her  chimeras,  as  they  were 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  397 

laughed  at  in  Switzerland.  M.  le  Prince  de  Conti  was 
another  claimant.  He  based  his  right  upon  the  will  of 
the  last  Due  de  Longueville,  by  which  he  had  been  called 
to  all  the  Duke's  wealth,  after  the  Count  de  Saint  Paul, 
his  brother,  and  his  posterity.  In  addition  to  these,  there 
were  Matignon  and  the  dowager  Duchess  de  Lesdiguieres, 
who  claimed  Neufchatel  by  right  of  their  relationship  to 
Madame  de  Nemours. 

Matignon  was  an  intimate  friend  of  Chamillart,  who 
did  not  like  the  Prince  de  Conti,  and  was  the  declared 
enemy  of  the  Marechal  de  Villeroy,  the  representative 
of  Madame  de  Lesdiguieres,  in  this  affair.  Chamillart, 
therefore,  persuaded  the  King  to  remain  neutral,  and 
aided  Matignon  by  money  and  influence  to  get  the  start 
of  the  other  claimants. 

The  haughty  citizens  of  Neufchatel  saw  then  all  these 
suitors  begging  for  their  suffrages,  when  a  minister  of  the 
Elector  of  Brandebourg  appeared  among  them,  and  disputed 
the  pretensions  of  the  Prince  de  Conti,  in  favor  of  his  master, 
the  Elector  of  Brandebourg  (King  of  Prussia),  who  drew 
his  claim  from  the  family  of  Chalons.  It  was  more  distant, 
more  entangled  if  possible,  than  that  of  Madame  de  Mailly. 
He  only  made  use  of  it,  therefore,  as  a  pretext.  His 
reasons  were  his  religion,  in  conformity  with  that  of  the 
country;  the  support  of  the  neighboring  Protestant  can- 
tons, allies,  and  protectors  of  Neufchatel,  the  pressing  re- 
flection that  the  principality  of  Orange  having  fallen  by  the 
death  of  William  III.  to  M.  le  Prince  de  Conti,  the  King 
(Louis  XIV  )  had  appropriated  it  and  recompensed  him  for 
it ;  and  that  he  might  act  similarly  if  Neufchatel  fell  to  one 
of  his  subjects;  lastly,  a  treaty  produced  in  good  form, 
by  which,  in  the  event  of  the  death  of  Madame  de  Ne- 
mours, England  and  Holland  agreed  to  declare  for  the 
Elector  of  Brandebourg,  and  to  assist  him  by  force  in  pro- 
curing this  little  State.  This  minister  of  the  Elector  was  in 
concert  with  the  Protestant  cantons,  who  upon  his  dec- 
laration at  once  sided  with  him ;  and  who,  by  the  money 
spent,  the  conformity  of  religion,  the  power  of  the 
Elector,  the  reflection  of  what  had  happened  at  Orange, 
found  nearly  all  the  suffrages  favorable.  So  striking 
while  the  iron  was  hot,  they  obtained  a  provisional  judg- 


398  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

ment  from  Neufchatel,  which  adjudged  their  State  to  the 
Elector  until  the  peace;  and  in  consequence  of  this,  his 
minister  was  put  into  actual  possession,  and  M.  le  Prince 
de  Conti  saw  himself  constrained  to  return  more  shame- 
fully than  he  had  returned  once  before,  and  was  followed 
by  the  other  claimants. 

Madame  de  Mailly  made  such  an  uproar  at  the  news 
of  this  intrusion  of  the  Elector,  that  at  last  the  attention 
of  our  ministers  was  awakened.  They  found,  with  her, 
that  it  was  the  duty  of  the  King  not  to  allow  this  mor- 
sel to  be  carried  off  from  his  subjects ;  and  that  there  was 
danger  in  leaving  it  in  the  hands  of  such  a  powerful 
Protestant  prince,  capable  of  making  a  fortified  place  of 
it  so  close  to  the  county  of  Burgundy,  and  on  a  frontier 
so  little  protected.  Thereupon,  the  King  dispatched  a 
courier  to  our  minister  in  Switzerland,  with  orders  to  go 
to  Neufchatel,  and  employ  every  means,  even  menaces, 
to  exclude  the  Elector,  and  to  promise  that  the  neutrality 
of  France  should  be  maintained  if  one  of  her  subjects 
was  selected,  no  matter  which  one.  It  was  too  late.  The 
affair  was  finished;  the  cantons  were  engaged,  without 
means  of  withdrawing.  They,  moreover,  were  piqued 
into  resistance,  by  an  appeal  to  their  honor  by  the  elect- 
oral minister,  who  insisted  on  the  menaces  of  Puysieux, 
our  representative,  to  whose  memoir  the  ministers  of 
England  and  Holland  printed  a  violent  reply.  The  pro- 
visional judgment  received  no  alteration.  Shame  was  felt ; 
and  resentment  was  testified  during  six  weeks ;  after  which, 
for  lack  of  being  able  to  do  better,  this  resentment  was 
appeased  of  itself.  It  may  be  imagined  what  hope  re- 
mained to  the  claimants  of  reversing  at  the  peace  this 
provisional  judgment,  and  of  struggling  against  a  prince 
so  powerful  and  so  solidly  supported.  No  mention  of  it 
was  afterward  made,  and  Neufchatel  has  remained  ever 
since  fully  and  peaceably  to  this  prince,  who  was  even 
expressly  confirmed  in  his  possession  at  the  peace  by 
France. 

The  armies  assembled  this  year  toward  the  end  of  May, 
and  the  campaign  commenced.  The  Due  de  Vendome 
was  in  command  in  Flanders,  under  the  Elector  of  Ba- 
varia, and  by  his  slothfulness  and  inattention,  allowed 


DUKE    OF   SAINT-SIMON  399 

Marlborough  to  steal  a  march  upon  him,  but  for  the  fail- 
ure of  some  of  the  arrangements,  might  have  caused  seri- 
ous loss  to  our  troops.  The  enemy  was  content  to  keep 
simply  on  the  defensive  after  this,  having  projects  of  at- 
tack in  hand  elsewhere  to  which  I  shall  soon  allude. 

On  the  Rhine,  the  Mare*chal  de  Villars  was  in  com- 
mand, and  was  opposed  by  the  Marquis  of  Bayreuth, 
and  afterward  by  the  Duke  of  Hanover,  since  King  of 
England.  Villars  was  so  far  successful,  that  finding  him- 
self feebly  opposed  by  the  Imperials,  he  penetrated  into 
Germany,  after  having  made  himself  master  of  Heidel- 
berg, Mannheim,  and  all  the  Palatinate,  and  seized  upon 
a  number  of  cannon,  provisions,  and  munitions  of  war. 
He  did  not  forget  to  tax  the  enemy  wherever  he  went. 
He  gathered  immense  sums  —  treasures  beyond  all  his 
hopes.  Thus  gorged,  he  could  not  hope  that  his  brig- 
andage would  remain  unknown.  He  put  on  a  bold  face 
and  wrote  to  the  King,  that  the  army  would  cost  him 
nothing  this  year.  Villars  begged  at  the  same  time  to 
be  allowed  to  appropriate  some  of  the  money  he  had 
acquired  to  the  leveling  of  a  hill  on  his  estate  which 
displeased  him.  Another  than  he  would  have  been  dis- 
honored by  such  a  request.  But  it  made  no  difference 
in  his  respect,  except  with  the  public,  with  whom,  how- 
ever, he  occupied  himself  but  little.  His  booty  clutched, 
he  thought  of  withdrawing  from  the  enemy's  country, 
and  passing  the  Rhine. 

He  crossed  it  tranquilly,  with  his  army  and  his  im- 
mense booty,  despite  the  attempts  of  the  Duke  of  Hanover 
to  prevent  him,  and  as  soon  as  he  was  on  this  side,  had 
no  care  but  how  to  terminate  the  campaign  in  repose. 
Thus  finished  a  campaign,  tolerably  brilliant,  if  the  sordid 
and  prodigious  gain  of  the  general  had  not  soiled  it. 
Yet  that  general,  on  his  return,  was  not  less  well  received 
by  the  King. 

At  sea  we  had  successes.  Frobin,  with  vessels  more 
feeble  than  the  four  English  ones  of  seventy  guns,  which 
convoyed  a  fleet  of  eighteen  ships  loaded  with  provisions 
and  articles  of  war,  took  two  of  those  vessels  of  war  and 
the  eighteen  merchantmen,  after  four  hours'  fighting, 
and  set  fire  to  one  of  the  two  others.  Three  months 


400  MEMOIRS  OF   THE 

after  he  took  at  the  mouth  of  the  Dwina  seven  richly- 
loaded  Dutch  merchant  ships,  bound  for  Muscovy.  He 
took  or  sunk  more  than  fifty  during  this  campaign. 
Afterward  he  took  three  large  English  ships  of  war  that 
he  led  to  Brest,  and  sank  another  of  a  hundred  guns. 
The  English  of  New  England,  and  of  New  York  were 
not  more  successful  in  Arcadia ;  they  attacked  our  colony 
twelve  days  running,  without  success,  and  were  obliged 
to  retire  with  much  loss. 

The  maritime  year  finished  by  a  terrible  tempest  upon 
the  coast  of  Holland,  which  caused  many  vessels  to  per- 
ish in  the  Texel,  and  submerged  a  large  number  of  dis- 
tricts and  villages.  France  had  also  its  share  of  these 
catastrophes.  The  Loire  overflowed  in  a  manner  hitherto 
unheard  of,  broke  down  the  embankments,  inundated 
and  covered  with  sand  many  parts  of  the  country,  car- 
ried away  villages,  drowned  numbers  of  people  and  a 
quantity  of  cattle,  and  caused  damage  to  the  amount  of 
above  eight  millions.  This  was  another  of  our  obliga- 
tions to  M.  de  la  Feuillade  —  an  obligation  which  we  have 
not  yet  escaped  from.  Nature,  wiser  than  man,  had 
placed  rocks  in  the  Loire  above  Roanne,  which  prevented 
navigation  to  that  place,  the  principal  in  the  duchy  of 
M.  de  la  Feuillade.  His  father,  tempted  by  the  profit 
of  this  navigation,  wished  to  get  rid  of  the  rocks.  Or- 
leans, Blois,  Tours,  in  one  word,  all  the  places  on  the 
Loire  opposed  this.  They  represented  the  danger  of  in- 
undations; they  were  listened  to,  and  although  the  M. 
de  la  Feuillade  of  that  day  was  a  favorite,  and  on  good 
terms  with  M.  Colbert,  he  was  not  allowed  to  carry  out 
his  wishes  with  respect  to  these  rocks.  His  son,  the  M. 
de  la  Feuillade,  whom  we  have  seen  figuring  with  so 
little  distinction  at  the  siege  of  Turin,  had  more  credit. 
Without  listening  to  anybody,  he  blew  up  the  rocks,  and 
the  navigation  was  rendered  free  in  his  favor;  the  inun- 
dations that  they  used  to  prevent  have  overflown  since 
at  immense  loss  to  the  King  and  private  individuals. 
The  cause  was  clearly  seen  afterward,  but  then  it  was 
too  late. 

The  little  effort  made  by  the   enemy  in    Flanders   and 
Germany,  had    a    cause,  which   began    to    be    perceived 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  401 

toward  the  middle  of  July.  We  had  been  forced  to  abandon 
Italy.  By  a  shameful  treaty  that  was  made,  all  our 
troops  had  retired  from  that  countiy  into  Savoy.  We  had 
given  up  everything.  Prince  Eugene,  who  had  had  the 
glory  of  driving  us  out  of  Italy,  remained  there  some  time, 
and  then  entered  the  country  of  Nice. 

Forty  of  the  enemy's  vessels  arrived  at  Nice  shortly 
afterward,  and  landed  artillery.  M.  de  Savoie  arrived 
there  also,  with  six  or  seven  thousand  men.  It  was  now 
no  longer  hidden  that  the  siege  of  Toulon  was  determined 
on.  Every  preparation  was  at  once  made  to  defend  the 
place.  Tesse"  was  in  command.  The  delay  of  a  day  on 
the  part  of  the  enemy  saved  Toulon,  and  it  may  be  said, 
France.  M.  de  Savoie  had  been  promised  money  by  the 
English.  They  disputed  a  whole  day  about  the  payment, 
and  so  retarded  the  departure  of  the  fleet  from  Nice. 
In  the  end,  seeing  M.  de  Savoie  firm,  they  paid  him  a 
million,  which  he  received  himself.  But  in  the  meantime 
twenty-one  of  our  battalions  had  had  time  to  arrive  at 
Toulon.  They  decided  the  fortune  of  the  siege.  After 
several  unsuccessful  attempts  to  take  the  place,  the  enemy 
gave  up  the  siege  and  retired  in  the  night,  between  the 
2zd  and  23d  of  August,  in  good  order,  and  without  being 
disturbed.  Our  troops  could  obtain  no  sort  of  assistance 
from  the  people  of  Provence,  so  as  to  harass  M.  de  Savoie 
in  his  passage  of  the  Var.  They  refused  money,  militia, 
and  provisions  bluntly,  saying  that  it  was  no  matter  to 
them  who  came,  and  that  M.  de  Savoie  could  not  tor- 
ment them  more  than  they  were  tormented  already. 

The  important  news  of  a  deliverance  so  desired  arrived 
at  Marly  on  Friday,  the  26th  of  August,  and  overwhelmed 
all  the  Court  with  joy.  A  scandalous  fuss  arose,  how- 
ever, out  of  this  event.  The  first  courier  who  brought 
the  intelligence  of  it,  had  been  dispatched  by  the  com- 
mander of  the  fleet,  and  had  been  conducted  to  the 
King  by  Pontchartrain,  who  had  the  affairs  of  the  navy 
under  his  control.  The  courier  sent  by  Tesse",  who  com- 
manded the  land  forces,  did  not  arrive  until  some  hours 
after  the  other.  Chamillart,  who  received  this  second 
courier,  was  piqued  to  excess  that  Pontchartrain  had 
outstripped  him  with  the  news.  He  declared  that  the 
26 


402  MEMOIRS  OF  THE 

news  did  not  belong  to  the  navy,  and  consequently 
Pontchartrain  had  no  right  to  carry  it  to  the  King. 
The  public,  strangely  enough,  sided  with  Chamillart, 
and  on  every  side  Pontchartrain  was  treated  as  a 
greedy  usurper.  Nobody  had  sufficient  sense  to  reflect 
upon  the  anger  which  a  master  would  feel  against  a 
servant,  who,  having  the  information  by  which  that 
master  could  be  relieved  from  extreme  anxiety,  should 
yet  withhold  the  information  for  six  or  eight  hours, 
on  the  ground  that  to  tell  it  was  the  duty  of  another 
servant ! 

The  strangest  thing  is,  that  the  King,  who  was  the 
most  interested,  had  not  the  force  to  declare  himself 
on  either  side,  but  kept  silent.  The  torrent  was  so 
impetuous  that  Pontchartrain  had  only  to  lower  his 
head,  keep  silent,  and  let  the  waters  pass.  Such  was 
the  weakness  of  the  King  for  his  ministers.  I  recol- 
lect that,  in  1702,  the  Due  de  Villeroy  brought  to 
Marly  the  important  news  of  the  battle  of  Luzzara. 
But,  because  Chamillart  was  not  there,  he  hid  him- 
self, left  the  King  and  the  Court  in  the  utmost  anxi- 
ety, and  did  not  announce  his  news  until  long  after, 
when  Chamillart,  hearing  of  his  arrival,  hastened  to 
join  him  and  present  him  to  the  King.  The  King 
was  so  far  from  being  displeased,  that  he  made  the 
Due  de  Villeroy  Lieutenant  General  before  dismissing 
him. 

There  is  another  odd  thing  that  I  must  relate  before 
quitting  this  affair.  Tesse",  as  I  have  said,  was  charged 
with  the  defense  of  Toulon  by  land.  It  was  a  charge  of 
no  slight  importance.  He  was  in  a  country  where  noth- 
ing was  prepared,  and  where  everything  was  wanting; 
the  fleet  of  the  enemy  and  their  army  were  near  at  hand, 
commanded  by  two  of  the  most  skillful  captains  of  the 
day:  if  they  succeeded,  the  kingdom  itself  was  in  danger, 
and  the  road  open  to  the  enemy  even  to  Paris.  A  gen- 
eral thus  situated  would  have  been  in  no  humor  for  jest- 
ing, it  might  have  been  thought.  But  this  was  not  the 
case  with  Tesse".  He  found  time  to  write  to  Pontchar- 
train all  the  details  of  the  war  and  all  that  passed  among 
our  troops  in  the  style  of  Don  Quixote,  of  whom  he 


DUKE   OF   SAINT-SIMON  403 

called  himself  the  wretched  squire  and  the  Sancho;  and 
everything  he  wrote  he  adapted  to  the  adventures  of  that 
romance.  Pontchartrain  showed  me  these  letters;  they 
made  him  die  with  laughing,  he  admired  them  so;  and 
in  truth  they  were  very  comical,  and  he  imitated  that 
romance  with  more  wit  than  I  believed  him  to  possess. 
It  appeared  to  me  incredible,  however,  that  a  man  should 
write  thus,  at  such  a  critical  time,  to  curry  favor  with 
a  secretary  of  state.  I  could  not  have  believed  it  had  I 
not  seen  it. 


[END  OF  VOL.  i.] 


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